


Anon Buys a Rapedroid

by nandroidtales



Category: Emmy The Robot (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandroidtales/pseuds/nandroidtales
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Things at work had been hectic for Anon. Shutdowns across the country meant a near collapse in the economic system but, for him, a welcome (and generous) raise in pay and an equally generous bonus; his workplace suddenly became more than essential and his wages came to reflect that. It was a welcome change for Anon, finally able to watch his savings grow fatter and fuller without pinching and crimping in every aspect of his daily life, and he was able to finally fulfill a lifelong dream of his. He’d seen threads about them, new consumer-grade “nandroids” which could do all the work of a maid and more. The robotically feminine touch of a Sterling maidbot would be a welcome change to Anon’s “cozy” apartment, and she would certainly help to make it presentable in the event he snagged a lady over for a visit. The only issue was cost: while the bonuses and raises had certainly bumped Anon up in the world, they hadn’t exactly elevated him to true bourgeois status, and he wouldn’t dare dream of owning a brand-new, fresh-from-the-plant nandroid. He could, however, buy one used; it was a genius plan, the same robot for a fraction of the cost, and he could easily torrent or download an illegal copy of her maintenance book so he’d never have to worry about exorbitantly pricey repairs or updates.  
There was a pawn shop not too far from his flat, and a short walk down the street in the stagnant, summer air brought him to the place, just reopened fortunately. He opened the door with a welcoming chime, the gentle hum of the fluorescent lights a cozying presence. A husky voice welcomed him into the store, the mustachioed proprietor calling him over.  
“What’ll it be today sir,” he questioned.  
“I’m looking for some used robotics, something Sterling but not too pricey.”  
“Here, follow me.” The gruff gentleman led Anon into a secluded backroom, steel shelves holding a handful of different robots, outmoded models scrunched up knees-to-chin alongside their modern cousins. “As you can see, we have quite the broad selection of nandroids and domestic robots. Just point out what interests you and we can look over them from there.”  
Anon cast his eyes around the small concrete room, examining with interest the different specimens collected there. When he eyed the helpfully exposed price tags, however, he began to lose hope; even used robots seemed well out of his price-range as long as he wanted to keep most of his new earnings. It was at that moment he spied a single, isolated robot, stiff as a board and leaning into a corner, that grabbed his attention.  
“What’s the deal with that one,” he asked. Her eyes were blissfully shut and she seemed to be in near-mint condition, her auburn hair still untangled and her porcelain-white polymer exterior unblemished.  
“Oh, uh, that one was dropped off here at random by some rich fellow. Said she had, ‘some issues’. We tested her,” he said, glancing sideways. “And found no problems whatsoever.”  
Anon examined her for a price tag and, with some looking, found one; it was suspiciously cheaper than all of the easily worse-off ones in the room.  
“Something ain’t right here. What’s the deal with this one?”  
“I told you, nothing’s the matter with her! Just some programming… quirks, technical artifacts, you know the ones. Nothing a hard reboot couldn’t fix!”  
“Uh huh… Then why is she still so cheap?”  
“Well… You see… It’s a special offer! With everything going on, people have been after domestic robots that can do, safely, all their shopping and ‘outside stuff’. Given her, uh, youth I figured it’d be a good draw for enthusiasts such as yourself. Vintage models,” he said, gesturing at the collection of outmodes, “fetch a bit more since their market is among collectors of, shall we say, exotic automata. Yes, the one who’s caught your eye is no object to a collector: she’s too new.”  
Seems believable, Anon thought. He’d done his research beforehand and, indeed, there was a rather active collector culture for old robots. Any rich old fop who wanted a full ‘Timeline Collection’ of Sterling robots could expect the oldest to be the most expensive articles, requiring deep dives into junkyards, museum collections, and a sojourn or two to the local, seedy pawnshop. Anon was still a bit doubtful concerning her ‘artifacts’ however.  
“So you’re saying that she has some past memories? The ‘artifacts’, I mean.”  
“Not at all, all robots we take in are wiped. Sometimes, however, determined owners and modders will hard-code new routines for their robots, and those will be left behind. Small things, like owner itineraries or important phone numbers, family birthdays and the like. Nothing that will get in the way.” The man was starting to flush a bit and grabbed a rag to wipe his head. Anon noticed the latent heat in the room too, before he thought about the luxury of not only owning a Sterling nandroid, but one for so cheap; he’d be able to pass as a young mogul, lady-friends brought to his apartment would no longer be turned off by his sty of a home or his often-apparent wageslavery. He knew what he had to do.  
“I’ll take her, list price.” The man sighed heavily and began to relax.  
“Alright! Excellent! Go ahead and grab her and we can both be on our way.”  
As Anon left the store, he could only grin about how he had, for all intents and purposes, robbed the owner of a generous return on the nandroid. He carried her slung under his arm, her light frame no issue for him as he marched back towards his apartment building. Standing her up in the corner of the elevator he whistled a little tune, knowing full-well his life would only be going up from here. A few strange glances from fellow tenants did little to distract him as he unlocked the door to his home, stepping into the dark flat, the gentle scent of tobacco smoke and water-damage past flooding his nose as it had for years. He stepped into the tiny living room and propped the robot against the wall. He was lucky enough that the pawnshop guy had a spare copy of her operating manual on hand, saving him the risk and trouble of pirating sensitive Sterling information. Taking the thick booklet in hand he opened up her diagnostic panel on the back of her neck and, using a convenient paperclip, pushed in the restart button. He stepped back as the skinny robot came to life, her eyes fluttering open as her autonomous reflexes began to subconsciously flex each joint in her body, her internal processors silently and rapidly checking the status of her systems. With a contented sigh she opened her eyes fully; clearly all systems were nominal. She looked around the room and, with great surprise, locked eyes with Anon, her cheek spots turning a bright luminescent red as she stared at the man.  
“Hello, sir. My name,” she paused, still blushing. Composing herself she continued. “My name is Holly, and I am your personal Sterling-brand domestic care device. I am able to provide world-class infant and child care, as well as manage households with the utmost of cleanliness and efficiency. If you could direct me, please, I will begin working posthaste.”  
“Well, hello Holly. My name is Anon, and this is my apartment. I don’t have any kids,” he trailed off. Introductions were always awkward, and he could tell that even for an obedient robot she was especially uncomfortable. Perhaps this was one of the leftovers of a previous owner. “But, uhm, as you can see… I have a home? It’s a bit dirty… So I’d start by just picking up around the living room? Maybe?”  
With renewed composure she smiled and began to move about the living room with a commandeered dustbin, diligently clearing the miasma of trash that clouded the space.  
“Wait a moment,” he said.  
“Yes, Master Anon?”  
“I think I should give you a tour first, get you familiarized with my home.”  
“Very well sir, I’ll follow you.” Anon led the robot through his small apartment, to the equally small kitchen space and his quaint bedroom and ‘study’. As he brought her to a bathroom which was comparatively immaculate to the rest of the space he pointed to a sparse towel closet across from the toilet.  
“There’s an outlet in there, so if you need to charge your cable will be there. Sorry there’s nowhere else better for you, my closet’s occupied.” The nandroid paused, deep instincts of etiquette and common decency were beginning to churn and, subconsciously, she was mildly repulsed at the idea of an overnight charging in a linen closet. But deeper within her the cold, tiled bathroom brought up a latent sense inside of her. She clutched and pulled at her skirt as lewd thoughts stirred. Bathrooms meant baths, and showers, and… and Anon. Master Anon: naked, alone, vulnerable. Every morning she knew he’d come in here and disrobe, unknowing, innocent. She’d be up, surely, hours before; he would be expecting coffee and breakfast, he had mentioned that in passing as he toured her through the kitchen. He’d be completely defenseless, wholly unaware of her sneaking up on him, pinning him down, feeling him struggle uselessly beneath her…  
“Holly? Are you alright?” The question caught her off-guard; she looked at him with the sweet, unassuming eyes of a nandroid.  
“Fine, sir! Just… excited, so excited to be working for you!” That covered it well enough, she thought, but now is no time to be plotting. She knew full well she couldn’t just jump his bones (weak, human bones) all at once. She had to earn his trust, get him comfortable, complacent. Give it a week, maybe two, and he would be in the palm of her hand. Modifications to her chassis began to twinge in excitement, and Holly stifled a gasp of pleasure as the very idea, still forming, of conquering Anon repeatedly set her off. Anon continued in the background of her mind, explaining small minutia of his planned home maintenance, detailing his work schedule and conditions, emphasizing just how tired he would be every night on coming home.  
“Tired,” she thought, “tired is perfect. He’s weak as is, and he’ll be weaker when he comes home!”  
Anon gleefully wrapped up the tour and clasped Holly’s shoulder.  
“I’m glad to have you Holly, you’ll be a welcome addition to the… household. Yeah… It’ll be nice to have a woman’s touch around here, even a synthetic one.” He didn’t suspect a thing about the little nandroid before him, her unassuming smile lulling him into a false trust that she was all too ready to exploit, and viciously so.

Holly’s first night was restless. She’d scrunched up into the closet and plugged herself in, knowing that just a few meters away and across the slim hallway Anon was fast asleep, all too ripe for the picking. She chastised herself for her impatience as the growing warmth between her legs begged attention. She resolved to satisfy herself with her fingers alone before she could claim Anon as her own; taking him as her personal fuck-toy would require cunning and guile, and time most of all. Before she reached down, she paused and traced her memories in her head. She had no recollection of past owners, though she knew full well they were out there; clearly they had taken a number of liberties in voiding her warranty before passing her on. She trembled in excitement before the conflict began to erupt in her mind; this she remembered. She knew she wasn’t like other nandroids, she wasn’t satisfied with simply taking orders and cleaning and being puked on, but that was still in her. As much as she had wanted to wrestle Anon to the ground and rip him free of his clothing (damn his clothes, holding him out of her sight!) she wrestled herself back. Her job was that of a servant, a maid of the household, a Sterling nandroid. Her fingers unpaused and crept lower to the modification of one past owner, probably some lowly degenerate who deserved to be raped, had she succeeded against him - she couldn’t know. Her decency retreated, the sense of maternal duty to her Anon diminishing as she began to rub beneath her white panties. Would she clean for him? Sure, for however long she had to. But when that jig was up, Anon would be her maid… her slave! NO! Whoever made her this way had neglected to pry her free of the childish filters of etiquette and ethics forced on her by Sterling. Anon was too kind to be a slave, she reasoned, her fingers pausing once more.  
“Holly, you can’t hurt him! He’s really, actually nice! For a human at least!” Her thoughts raced at what to do, the growing ache of lust battling against all sense of maid-ly normality. “He gave us this nice closet, and you could see how bad he felt for it! He’s misunderstood, you’ll see! He just needs some care…”  
“Oh, really? He’s nice? His first order was to pick up his trash, the absolute slob! He’s a pig, Holly, you owe him nothing! In no time he’ll be sleeping in this closet, and you’ll be charging in his bed!” The idea thrilled her, crunching anon into a ball and locking him in the towel closet, every night dragging him out only to give her maintenance or to please herself with. But she couldn’t stomach that thought either, inflicting that suffering on a human, especially one who had taken her in, was unconscionable. The heat between her thighs was too much to bear now, a deep longing for release overpowered her restraint. She toyed with herself, gently rubbing and stroking herself. She yelped loudly as her hand wandered too deep, and at once she pulled her hand back in surprise, arresting control once more. She locked her hands over her knees and tried to focus on resting and charging, charging and resting, but the sudden illumination of the bathroom caused her to recoil.  
“Holly? You okay,” Anon asked, swinging the closet door open. Holly was scrunched low on her bottom and looked up, bleary eyed and, to Anon, almost afraid.  
“F-Fine, sir, just a, uh, nightmare…” Anon was puzzled by this, he didn’t know robots could even sleep or dream, let alone have a nightmare, but then again she was one of the most advanced and ‘human’ models made to date.  
“Well, if you’re having trouble going into, uh, ‘sleep mode,’” he said, chuckling slightly, “you’re welcome to charge in my room. There’s an outlet there too, if you’re more comfortable with that.”  
Holly weighed the options in her mind, this outreaching vindicated her one self, proving he, Anon, was good. There was no reason to ever hurt a human, she knew this all too well, but this proved further Anon was undeserving of her sinister machinations. Her other self screamed in rejection, thinking it a trap, a ploy to woo her into submission, but her concerns were silenced when Holly, standing up, took Anon’s hand and followed into his bedroom, cord bundled in her arms.  
Anon, however, had a few more concerns. Not only were ‘robot nightmares’ seemingly nonexistent, but the reality of a single, lone man owning a domestic robot, and letting her sleep in his room would be an insurmountable challenge to his lady hunting. For the time being, however, Holly deserved his full attention so she could best settle in and get comfortable. He watched her nestle into the corner of his room, her softly glowing eyes and cheeks illuminating her small spot by the window.  
“Tomorrow,” he thought, “I’m off. Maybe I should get to know her, get her more comfortable. That could help.” The little robot was on his mind as he drifted off to sleep, and the year of threads where he’d fantasized over having a Sterling nandroid swirled in his head. He had one; now what?


	2. Chapter 2

Holly’s first night was rough, to say the least. She’d stood in the corner, cord draping to the floor from her back, and watched Anon intently, his chest gently rising and falling through the night, the incessant urge to make some move or advance at him, to grab him while she could, overwhelming. At some time early in the morning, her battery already well charged, she unplugged herself and gathered the courage to creep forward. Her maidly inhibitions melted away as she sidled up towards the man, his white tee-shirt held close to his body. As Holly crept every closer he stirred, rolling over with a momentous sigh of new-found comfort. The small maidbot froze in place for an instant, ready to dive beneath the bed or, were time to allow, to the corner. Fate, however, smiled on her as Anon slept on. She was at the side of the bed now and she stood, towering, over the man. She knew full well were she to try anything there would be dire consequences, but she had to try something. Gently, almost imperceptibly slow, she raised her arm to brush the shoulder of the snoozing man. He shuddered groggily and reflexively pulled the covers a little tighter but he was, mercifully, still asleep. She carefully sat on the edge of the bed, savoring the warmth of Anon’s shoulder as she lightly petted him.  
“Holly…” Holly pulled her arm back with a start - he was awake. She swiftly pulled herself from the bed and beat a retreat to her corner. As soon as she made it, however, she could plainly see that Anon was still fast asleep - evidently he was a heavy sleeper. Holly breathed a sigh of relief before making her way back to the bed. She chastised herself for her carelessness but was distracted by the softly heaving form before her.   
“Humans,” she thought, “are so very interesting.” With a tap of her finger into his arm she confirmed her curiosities. “Hm, yes, very soft.”   
Sitting down once more she positioned herself just aside Anon, close enough to hear any inopportune stirrings and to get a good cop or two of his body before his alarm inevitably went off (the hussy). As she delicately stroked his arms up and down the warmth from his body, coursing just beneath the skin at dozens of times a minute, she felt the all-too-familiar heat building in her lower chassis. She scolded herself mentally for her imprudent thoughts; her lusts were getting too violent already and she had to repeat nandroid-school mantras about patience and nursery virtues to calm herself. For the moment, just feeling his warmth would have to be enough.  
“Holly,” he muttered again. She pulled back once more, ready to make her escape, but she paused as he continued; he was sleep talking. “Holly, it’ll be okay… I’ll take care of you…”  
She was caught off guard at the slurred message, but she knew his concern was genuine. Some version of her was caught in his mind, trapped and alone, and he was there to protect her. Her nightmare shtick was a last resort, but clearly it worked.  
“He’s… He’s worried about me.” A pang of guilt struck through Holly’s little central processor as she watched the sleeping man. She sat up and placed a kiss on his head before returning to her corner for the night. The neon glow of the clock read 3:47; just two or so hours to go.

A harsh beeping ripped Anon from a fading dream, the dim light of early morning peeking through the blinds as he fumbled blindly for the alarm’s off button. Slamming aimlessly the cheeping finally stopped and Anon sat up. With bellowing yawn and smacking lips he opened his eyes to see the his new nandroid, chargi-  
“She’s not there.”  
“What?”  
“She’s gone.” Clearly Anon was still dreaming; she’d had a nightmare and he had chosen to have her sleep in his room, somewhere welcoming to the wayward robot. And now she had disappeared. Anon slung the covers off and sprung from the bed, slapping his face and pinching himself as he rushed into the kitchen. He paused, red-faced, as he watched the little nandroid crack a handful of eggs and beat them vigorously. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, and this sudden noise made Holly jump a bit.  
“Oh! Good morning, sir! I took the liberty of making you breakfast and coffee,” she beamed at him. Her cheek spots flushed with maidly pride as she ushered the groggy man into the kitchen. She sat him down, gently, and placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. Sipping it nonchalantly he watched the little robot bounce in place as she tended her eggy ward. He’d close his eyes for an instant and she could be gone. She’d been in his home for less than a day, and for all he knew she was loaded with malware out the wazoo, but there was something about her he wanted to protect, to nurture. As he nursed his fatigue with sparing sips of coffee he smiled as she brought over his breakfast, smiling back at his dour face. He managed a weak grin just for her as he contemplated all the worries he’d heaped on himself with this latest purchase.  
Holly stood expectantly, hands clasped at her front, as she waited for him to make a move. It took him a solid ten seconds before he noticed her deepening gaze and the weighty expectations it held, and he hastily shoveled a forkful of the hot eggs into his mouth.  
“You have to eat them all, sir! You need energy for work today. We don’t want you coming home tired and weak!” Anon smirked as he took another bite; they were quite good, but then again she was built that way.  
“Why are you doing this” Anon said between yolky mouthfuls. “It’s a Saturday. Special day off. Meaning I can cook for myself.”  
“O-Oh! So you’ll be here… all day, sir?”  
“A nightmare, I know.” The little robot was blind sided by his highly relatable self-deprecating humor.  
“I-It’s no trouble, sir, maybe today you can teach me more of my duties.”  
“Yeah, that seems like a bright idea,” he paused. “Problem is I don’t really have too many jobs for you. At least nothing serious.”  
“Meaning, sir?”  
“I just need you to do simple stuff: clean up, make breakfast, do the dishes. Laundry would be helpful but that’s downstairs. It’s really not a huge deal.” Anon began to realise, slowly, the sheer novelty of having a nandroid, especially for one with an apartment as small as his - clearly these robots needed wide open mansions to roam and clean at all hours of the day and, by comparison, his home was a cage. His worry for her only compounded.  
“W-Well, sir,” Holly began, trying to work a way to get an advantage on him, her maidly precog-cycles fading to the background. “I could run a shower or a bath for you, sir! Hygiene is most important, especially now!”  
“Nah, I don’t shower in the mornings on weekends. I have a ‘system’.”  
“A ‘system’, sir?”  
“Yeah, a system.”  
“Fascinating.”   
An engulfing silence filled the space between them as they looked away from the other, clearly not sure what to say next. An empty plate and mug complemented the quiet before Anon stood up, dishes in hand, and made his way to the sink. Holly grabbed his shoulder firmly, relishing the touch, before admonishing his lack of consideration for her sole job as maid. She took the pieces from him and got to work cleaning up her station in the kitchen, returning the cluttered space to the bachelor pad idyll it was before, save for some extra space and fewer empty cans.  
“Well, Holly, I don’t really have any plans today besides sitting on my ass,” he said, the profanity eliciting a blush from her end. “So if you want to learn anything just holler.” He stepped away from the linoleum-floored nook to the couch a few yards away and plopped down with a sigh, intent on spending his precious time off in front of his TV. Before he could turn it on, however, the little robot was behind him, leaning over the couch arms-crossed, head just inches from his.  
“What are you going to watch, sir?”  
“I dunno, you have any favorite *programs*,” he returned.  
“No, sir, nandroids aren’t made with a love for television. Sorry to disappoint.”  
“No, get it, progra- oh, nevermind. Here,” he patted the cushion next to him, beckoning her over. “Don’t worry about working all day today, it’s the weekend.”   
Holly paused, terrified of the implications of being so close to a human, no less a potential victim. So long as she kept her distance, and made her best effort to perform her maidly tasks, she could go about her day without a care for the lustful twinges she’d become intimately familiar with. On the one hand, it would be incredibly rude and borderline insubordinate to reject his offer: on the other, it would put him in danger to oblige him and sit on the couch. Running over protocols for child de-escalation, compromise algorithms, and all manner of ‘making things work’ she found an opening.  
“Here sir,” she said, pointing. “I’ll sit here on the floor, it’s really no issue! This way I can see and, er, hear the TV better!” She quickly rushed over and nestled herself in the corner of the L-shaped couch, positioning herself as far from Anon and as close to the TV as possible; had her memories not been wiped she’d have been able to cover more convincingly but this would have to do.  
“Okay…”  
With a click the set sprang to life, an older CRT model that had somehow chugged forward through the decades and into the small living room in the one-man apartment.   
“You like sports Holly?”  
“Sp-Sports, sir? Oh, yes, sports are great! I love when the teams… do the things… and then with the, uh, points,” she said. She covered her mouth after a nervous giggle slipped out, and Anon yelled at himself for springing so much on her when she, clearly, had no memories of anything sports related other than ‘the points’.  
“Here,” he said, flicking to a fuzzy image of jersied men running up and down a pitch.   
“This,” he pointed to emphasize the lesson, “is football.” He spent the next few minutes pointing out the players, the strikers, midfielders, backs and so on, enunciating multiple times how it was a ‘hands-off’ sport. As the game progressed, and Holly learned the rules, she began to get more invested than Anon, calling out players (on both sides) for clear infractions of the rules as Anon had explained them, and began to deride the ‘uncouth’ behavior of some of the young men on the field. It was starting to get a bit much for Anon as she readied increasingly vile insults for the troublemakers on the pitch. He was ready to change the channel when her angered diatribes were quieted by a close-in, if grainy on the TV set, shot of the players: young, with heaving chests and lean bodies, and drenched in sweat.  
“They look like Anon,” Holly thought. “This isn’t good.” She quieted down as she hugged her knees to her chest and prayed for calm, closing her eyes and hiding the screen.  
“You okay, Holly?”  
“F-Fine, sir! Just upset about this match,” she laughed.  
“This is not a laughing matter,” she screamed internally. She felt it again: that rising heat, the biting itch that had rooted itself in her nether regions, the most un-maidly and impure thoughts and feelings a nandroid could have. And she couldn’t stop them, either - the urge to rape, to touch herself, to do anything to relieve the pressure growing inside her was monumental. She let out a stifled gasp as her sensitive self chafed against her panties, the cotton fabric growing slick.  
“Holly?”  
“I-It was a fine pass sir.”  
“Yep.”  
“May I be excused? I believe I left my charging cord plugged in!”  
“That’s not a problem, just leave it.”  
“O-Oh sir,” she lunged forward, steadying herself as she stood. “B-But it is! Ph-Phantom drain is one of the leading causes of excesssssive electric bills! Please let me take care of it!”  
“It’s okay Holly, calm down. You do what you need to do to feel comfortable, okay? You’re worrying me.” And that was it, that pushed her just enough back from the edge of edges that she could compose herself and retreat from the hothouse of the TV room. Anon was equal parts fire and ice to her, there to get her worked up and overheating at the drop of a hat or touch of a hand, but his words soothed her raging hunger, and let her fight back for the first time in her memory (which was not that long, to be fair). As she walked back into the bedroom she made sure to cover her story and unplug her cord, and she breathed a deep synthetic breath as she centered herself, the urges retreating in the absence of Anon or his sports programs. She crept to the bathroom and made sure to stealthily make herself presentable, taking care to hide her damp panties somewhere secure; they’d have to go in the laundry, but that would have to wait. As she piled a towel over them and closed the linen closet door, remembering her short time inside it, she heard a great expletive from down the hall.  
“Fucking shit,” screamed Anon. Emmy blushed instinctively at the words and recoiled, her anxiety building at whatever was the matter. She rushed down the short hall back to the TV area and found Anon, on his back but just getting up.  
“Everything alright, sir,” Holly called over to him.  
“Fine,” he shouted back. "I just slipped in something, knowing me I spilled something and didn’t even know it.” Holly fought back her deep embarrassment; this was no accident. Anon was an unfortunate victim of the first of many such mishaps and slips caused by Holly’s reckless co-program. She hurriedly moved to help him up and moved past him, rubbing his back, to dry up the incriminating puddle before it was too late. Anon stretched and creased his back, sighing, before returning to the couch with an exaggerated drop. Holly bunched up the paper towel in her hand before binning it, rising once more and moving to the fridge.  
“Some ice, sir?”  
“I’ll be fine, just need to rest a bit. It wasn’t that bad a fall, okay?” This reassurance, her programming could tell with ease, was a common human tactic to deter care; her Sterling instincts drove her onward with a sense of duty, but a creeping thirst was coming back, and with a vengeance.  
“Hot water, sir, is excellent for falls, bruises, and cramps. I recommend you take a hot bath this instant for a speedier recovery. I would be personally responsible if you were not in peak condition to not only work come Monday, but to train me to be the best Sterling domestic care assistant I can be!” She had carried it perfectly, he was practically in the palm of her hand and, icing on the cake, he was a bit weaker. The purer half of her less-than-default mind cringed at the very thought of manipulating human suffering for personal gain, but the deeper animalist stirrings in her applauded her guile and cunning.  
“That… That sounds good,” Anon said. With a smile Holly led Anon to the bathroom and readied the bath, running the tap and preparing towels, every little detail to maximize his comfort and her contact with him. As Anon reached, wincing, upwards to remove his shirt, Holly seized the opportunity to ease his arms upright and pull his shirt over his head, revealing his bare torso to her. She jumped with renewed warmth but soldiered on towards his pants before a firm hand stopped her.  
“That, that’s enough Holly,” he said. “You can go now.”  
“Y-Yes, sir. Please, take a long soak for your sake and mine.”  
“Will do.”  
As Holly left the bathroom Anon locked the door behind him, and she could hear the hushed grunt of him maneuvering himself around, the cloth-on-tile ‘flooph’ of dropping pants, the lapping water sloshing about as he got in the tub. She hadn’t planned on a slip-and-fall, but she had worked him perfectly to a spot where he was vulnerable, alone, and in no position to resist. The only barrier to her was the locked door but, to her delight, there was a slim hole in the knob through which she could peep.  
She glanced through into the sterile white bathroom, the gentle roar of the fan running as Anon, between sighs and gasps, stretched his back in the hot water. Emmy giggled at his open-air comments about ‘the stuff’ as he reclined in the tub. The lust inside her emerged full force, but Holly knew now to take precautions; she was trying to rape Anon, not paralyze him. Returning to her kneeling position at the knob, washcloth beneath her, she hiked her skirt up with one hand, and moved the other slowly downwards, her metal fingers were intensely cold on the synthetic folds, and she shuddered at the touch, but once her hand was down there she couldn’t pull it away. She worked her hand up and down, up and down; each stroke elicited a little yelp or coo of pleasure, too quiet for Anon to hear but thunderously loud in her own mind.  
“You’re going too slow!”  
“We shouldn’t be doing this…”  
“But he’s so dreamy… so *rapeable*”  
“What would Mr. Sterling think of us, me, doing this?”  
A veritable civil war was brewing within her, the amplified shame and guilt at using Anon as her own eye candy began to overwhelm her lusts as she slowed down, her other hand loosening its grip on her skirt as she calmed herself. But then, Anon arose out of the water, fully nude: Holly hadn’t been keeping track of the time but it had to have been only ten, fifteen minutes of him, soaking quietly, and her, jilling off (less than quietly).  
“H-Holly?” With a start she ripped her hand away and ran down the hall - her response had to sound not too close.  
“Yes, s-sir?”  
“I’m, uh, my back hurts a bit! I’m just gonna lay down in here! Don’t worry about me just watch TV or something okay!”  
“As you wish, sir! Do you want a pillow?” There was a pause.  
“I’ll… I’ll manage!”  
Relieved, she returned to her spot at the doorknob. She watched with bated breath as Anon, hunched over, walked over to the linen closet and grabbed a handful of towels. Holly watched in suspense as he stooped low and grabbed for the towel covering her discarded undergarments. She was ready to wail bloody murder to stop him, but he stopped himself the instant the angle became too extreme, and he opted for the myriad of other towels above him. One by one he laid out a mat of towels and, rolling one into a convenient tube, laid down on the floor on his back, and closed his eyes. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him before in her haste, but compared to that glimpse this was the mother lode. He was just... laying there, exposed. His member was by no means what she would imagine of someone pathetic enough to live alone and buy a nandroid, by all means it exceeded her expectations and then some. This threw her into a fervor, she pulled her skirt up once more and worked her hand down once more, ready to close the deal. She wove her hand in and around each gentle crevice and slope of her robotic womanhood, finding the small crowning bump and circling it with her finger. Jolts of electric pleasure made her tense up and convulse, her fingers moving on her own as she humped the air, her replication breathing quickening with each empty thrust. She moved a pair of fingers inside herself and began to thrust in and out as she watched the same rise and fall of Anon’s chest, himself staring at the ceiling completely unawares of the heinous act happening just outside his bathroom. As she fought harder and harder she found herself short of breath, even for lack of lungs, and the pounding of a heart not present drummed in her ears. She battled herself, the shame, lust, anger, modesty and all as she felt each individual jolt of joy work itself from bottom to top. As she felt a great exhaustion in her circuits, she felt herself nearing the summit of a great mountain, the apex of her endeavors so far. She worked a thumb in one direction, circling, as her other fingers continued. She peered through the keyhole one more time to spy anon’s form and saw him pacing restlessly, stretching and arching his back in full view, as if displaying himself in a peepshow just for her. With one last shuddering gasp she drove her hips into the air as a great release fell over her; her legs wouldn't respond to any input as she knelt there, hand over her mouth, the last shocks of pleasure leaving her mind. As she collapsed backwards she breathed deeply; a great weight had left her chest as she squirmed on the floor.  
Snapping to attention just a moment later she knew she had to act fast. Her prudence had paid off and her artificial mess had been neatly contained to one of Anon’s towels, one he, hopefully, wouldn’t notice was gone. She balled it up and scampered, bow-legged, to the bedroom and searched through Anon’s closet. There she found a singular hamper, half-full of soiled clothes and cruddy garments. She took a deep breath before plunging her hand into the very core of it, concealing the evidence of her crime within the confines of sweaty gym shorts and sauce-stained shirts. The fatigue was setting in hard now, and she made a dash for the TV room, just barely making it to the couch before the hard-wired post-coital sleep mode hit her.  
Waking up an hour or so later, Holly was resting in her corner once again, charging cord plugged back in and she was positioned cross-legged. Standing up she made her way to the living room again, bewildered and not the least bit disoriented, not even sure if what she had experienced had been an exceedingly pleasant dream or reality. However, when she encountered Anon, now watching a nature documentary, she knew it had been real. His hair was still drying, and he had put on some fresh clothing. A magically summoned heating pad was nestled into the small of his back and he turned to Holly, clearly in far less (if any) pain.  
“Hey Holly, I think your battery might have died, you were shut down over here on the couch. Good to see you’re charged up again.”  
“Yes, sir, charged up,” she laughed. Nope. Not a dream.  
“Well, like I said I have no real plans. Gonna order pizza in a bit for dinner and that’s it.”  
“Y-You don’t want me to prepare something for you, sir?”  
“Nah, take it easy. You watched a lot of TV today,” he chuckled. “Plus you helped me out a lot with my back. With you around I won’t be slipping so much I suppose.”  
His smile made her uneasy, guilt already consuming her again as her matronly instincts took back their foothold. Blushing heavily she could only nod at his thanks. She knew all too well she couldn’t do what that ‘some person’ had programmed her to do, especially not to him. She feared now how at any moment she could lose control as she had before and, with no restraints in place, seriously hurt Anon. She resolved to never touch him again. So long as she could distance herself and sate her urges by hand alone, not a hair on his body would be harmed ever again, not if she had anything to say about it.  
“C’mon Holly, let’s watch some more TV.”  
“O-Okay, sir.”  
“You don’t have to call me sir all the time Holly, just Anon is fine.”  
“O-Okay…” She received an expectant look.   
“Okay… Anon.”


	3. Chapter 3

While the latter half of that Saturday had passed uneventfully for Holly (if awkwardly silent despite anon’s probing), she loathed the long night hours sitting in the corner, watching the sunlight wane and wax in time, her only ‘entertainment’ the odd muttering from the man on the bed. Perplexingly, tonight her lusts were subdued, dormant even, and she could sit quietly and contemplate what her next move would be. Her thoughts ebbed and flowed with the rise and fall of his chest, wondering how she could move forward living in the same home as Anon without succumbing to her primal lusts and attacking him. The sterile quiet of the waxing hours of the morning overwhelmed her as she curled up tighter in the corner, increasingly afraid of what the rising Sun would bring.  
Staring beyond the blinds the room slowly illuminated, pitch black surrendering to muted grey and deep blue as the clock passed five in the morning and Holly, done charging a while ago, arose to get to her daily duties. She unplugged herself with a gentle click and tip-toed out into the kitchen, an un-blinded window allowing more of the meager light into the common area of the apartment. Sunday morning was here and Holly set to the few chores she knew she could complete for Anon without his griping excessively. In the brief couple days she had been in this apartment he had for all intents and purposes denied her the satisfaction of actually performing the duties she was hardwired to complete and only deepened her frustrations, merging her nagging lusts with a growing distaste for his laissez faire attitude towards having a robotic homemaker. The only loophole was charging early enough to be ready to go well before he woke up and thus afford herself some precious time to do actual work rather than reluctantly laze about with Anon, even if that was an unfortunate side effect of these damnable weekends - Holly could only imagine what she’d be able to accomplish when Anon was gone at work, freeing her both to do her job and of the annoying tugs at her womanhood by his very presence.  
Walking into the kitchen she flipped on one of the lights, careful still to keep quiet, as she tidied her work station and started readying the myriad items around the kitchen to make breakfast for Anon, despite his wishes. Scanning through the pantry and refrigerator she knew full well that, in absence of herself, the loathsome bachelor would opt for any of the frozen or foil-packaged toaster goods he hoarded in his kitchen. She gave an indignant harrumph at the assumption that she could sit idly by while he unconsciously killed himself with pastries. The conflicting voices of lust, disgust, and drilled domestic duties clashed within her as she took pause from her search in the kitchen and tried again to formulate a strategy moving forward. It’d be quite displeasing to some inside her, but if she could distance herself as much as possible from Anon she could very reasonably avoid the raging heat that had consumed her inhibitions yesterday, and save herself the trouble and shame of abusing her owner for her personal pleasure. This, as she expected, was met with a twinge of anger; why should she, of all droids, deny herself her right in conquering Anon? What did she have to gain by idly dottering about his apartment day-in and day-out, completing nothing but the chores he was too lazy to do? The absurdity of it built inside her and she felt a yell of rage bubbling up, ready to break free.  
With a deep breath, she collected herself as best she could, holding back the outburst for the time being. As the sun creeped ever onward, the apartment growing brighter minute by minute, she set herself to her task with a renewed optimism, wrangling her subdued anger towards making Anon a proper, full breakfast. Preparing the tight kitchen space before her was no easy feat, the limitations of the economical abode forcing her to arrange her tools and ingredients with military precision and requiring her to quickly sequester whatever was no longer needed; as soon as the coffee was ready, tin and grounds were disposed of post haste and the mug removed from the vicinity, a whisk and bowl replacing them as she moved faster to crack eggs and mix batter. The precarious balance between Anon’s two electric burners could only truly be managed by a nandroid of her caliber, cooking the eggs and from-scratch pancakes to yolky-yellow and golden-brown perfection respectively. As her internal clock registered half past six o’clock, the distant chirp of his alarm (skank) rang in her ears as she arranged the morning menagerie at the small table that served as the apartment’s dining room. She sat idly at the table, tuning her ears expectantly to the bedroom as the classic yawn erupted followed by the shuffling of blankets and then feet as Anon awoke.  
As Anon groggily entered the kitchen Holly gave one last glance over the breakfast she had prepared. By human standards it was a culinary triumph, especially considering the paucity of good ingredients (a situation she remembered to remedy soon).  
“What’s all this,” Anon asked, stopping short as Holly pressed a mug of coffee into his hands. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the warm ceramic and gave it a nursing sip, sighing contentedly.  
“It’s breakfast, Anon!”  
“I told you that you don’t need to cook all the time,” he said between swallows of coffee. “I can take care of myself, I mean, there’s plenty for me to eat and more important things for you to do.”  
“Like what?” That caught him - he couldn’t help but spy the entirety of the apartment, seemingly cleaned and ordered to a degree he was unfamiliar with, and all in a few days. She was good, he had to admit, but he figured he could find her something to do. As he straightened the neck on his white tee, it struck him.  
“Laundry, Holly. It’s laundry day.”  
“Excellent! Please direct me to the laundry room post haste!” She shuddered silently, the bristling presence of Anon, and his slack unshaven face, were starting to overwhelm her already. Making breakfast was a momentary distraction, but doing laundry would take hours, easily, and she could isolate herself in whichever concrete corner of the building held its washers and dryers.  
“Oh! Uh, sure. Just follow me.” As Anon stepped, however, his foot caught on an errant dust bunny on the kitchen’s linoleum floor, one leg sliding far forward as he fell into an impromptu split. Bracing himself with on hand, his other carelessly relinquished the coffee mug into the waiting bosom of the nandroid, herself now mortified at her carelessness. A great brown splotch spread across her cornflower blue dress as she froze, stiff as an ironing board, upright, silent. As Anon cursed himself repeatedly he set the mug on the counter and sighed, before turning to the robot.  
“You good, Holly?”  
“N-No, sir,” she muttered to herself. As she tugged at her dress, fanning it in the air, she pulled inwards even more as her shame grew, cheeks flaring as Anon moved to dry up what he could.  
“Here,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s get you into some clean clothes and then we can start the laundry, okay?”  
“O-Okay,” came the meek reply. As the man led her back into his own room he rifled through his closet, just inches from the hamper in which Holly (staring in suspense) had stashed the cloth she soiled. With a grunt of satisfaction Anon pulled a gaudy pair of gym shorts and a tee-shirt from one of his drawers, pushing them into the surprised arms of the waiting maid. With a start she pulled them into a bundle on her chest, careful to keep them from the still-damp spot on her dress.  
“Head to the bathroom and get changed, and then I’ll show you the laundry room. You’re sure you’re okay?”  
“Y-Yes, sir,” she said. Pausing, she caught her mistake but couldn’t squeak out the ‘Anon’ stuck in her digital larynx. With a small peep she straightened out and sped to the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind her and twisting the lock. She slumped to the floor, holding the clothes tightly to her chest. She sniffed them deeply; despite being clean they, like all his clothes, had the faint smell of Anon. It was a sensation all too overwhelming and she felt the rising pressure and heat in her nether regions once again, the inescapable slip into lewd touching just moments away. She arrested herself and shot up, again, throwing the clothes onto the sink counter with an indignant harrumph; there was no time for that now, she had work to do. Grabbing the bottom fringe of her skirt she began to pull it up, up and over her slender body and past the only other garment she still had with her, the miraculously dry bra which held her modest silicone breasts. As she stared at her now nude self in the mirror the roaring tide of shame and guilt washed over her again, crashing in her mind. She was ashamed of this loathsome body, its blatantly immodest modifications driving her to depravity time and again, depravity which felt too good to ignore.  
Slipping into her new clothes she felt more at ease, the pressure vented ever so slightly as her body was covered once more, though not without difficulty. The shirt was so large compared to her it threatened to slip past her narrow shoulders and to the floor, and were it not for a halving of the circumference of the shorts she’d be sorely exposed upon leaving the bathroom. Bending over to pick up her ruffled skirt she froze as she realized she was missing a piece of her outfit, her eyes darting up again to the linen closet opposite the sink. Pacing quickly over she gingerly opened the door and stared at the pile of towels at its very bottom. Overturning one folded square she found her abandoned panties and, picking them up with pinched fingers, she threw the still-damp garment on top of her dress. Balling the two up tightly and concealing her missing underwear she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, an expectant Anon standing hamper in hands waiting for her.  
“Ready to go, Holly?”  
“Yes…”  
“Holly it was an accident, okay? No harm, no foul.”  
“Yes sir,” she whispered. She did her best to subdue herself as she followed the man out of the apartment and into the quiet, carpeted hallway, devoid of other tenants and still dim in the early morning light. Walking down the stretching corridor the pair came to a small common area, a vending machine with a flickering fluorescent light and an horrendously outdated newspaper box framing the imposing steel doors of the elevator. Holly grew anxious, not for some oft-inconvenient lust but the idea of the world outside Anon’s apartment; the rough stipple ceiling and smoke-yellowed walls were less than comforting. With the click of the button the elevator was on its way, fortunately unoccupied in the early hours of the day. With an aching groan the car arrived and the doors squeaked open, displaying its chromed walls and tiled floor to the waiting pair. Stepping in Anon pressed the button for the sub-basement and the two were on their way.  
As the elevator came to a shuddering stop after descending the dozen-odd stories, Holly was greeted by the even harsher sight of the bare concrete floors and walls of what amounted to the building’s laundry room. Stepping past her into the concrete hall and then to the left, Anon moved quickly to set the hamper down. Holly tagged along into the dismal room, a smattering of posters and a sole calendar from a bygone age the only splash of color or character in the room. Buzzing lights droned overhead as she followed the man to one of the washers, and as he plunged his hands into the folded mess she jumped in surprise and grabbed his arm.  
“Please sir! Allow me, I’m fully laundry trained!”  
“O-Okay, Holly, calm down! You sure you know how to work these old machines,” he asked, giving the washer an emphatic pat.  
“Of course, sir! Please just leave it to me, you still have breakfast to finish!” That statement struck Anon as entirely true; the rushed trip to the basement had left his Sunday spread abandoned and, he realized with growing dread, rapidly cooling. He perked up and grabbed Holly by the shoulders.  
“Holly - I’m trusting you. You sure you can handle this?” The uncharacteristic seriousness blindsided (and only exacerbated the lust of) the small robot. Collecting herself almost defiantly, she reassured the man of her dedication to her charge. His fears assuaged the man sped off and away, back up to his waiting breakfast. Holly breathed a deep sigh of relief, the sudden touch and his grave attitude were setting off all the wrong alarms in all the right places, his firm grip pushing her CPU to slow in the artificial heat. Shaking her head she popped open the washer door and set to her business, the distance and distraction the ideal way to cool off. She diligently separated out lights and darks, tossing her soiled dress and unmentionables with shame in with Anon’s clothes, the mingling of the clothes all she could handle alone down there. As she grabbed the old ‘communal’ detergent bottle she sighed, the choice of a clearly inferior brand an upset to her sensibilities. As she reluctantly poured it in she resolved to buy a better brand, just for Anon’s clothes.  
She didn’t expect it to take so long; in all honesty she thought she’d be back upstairs in time for a full day of, she cringed, television. However as the washer tumbled on the realization set in that she’d be working for more than a bit. The droning, mechanical noise of the machine faded into white noise as she stared and focused at the sparse walls, trying desperately to avoid the forces inside her vying for control, just a moment’s opportunity to burst forth. Twiddling her thumbs and clicking her synthetic tongue she sat in the deafening silence of the room, searching for a distraction from the thoughts raging in her mind and, finding none, she relapsed into the petty arguing of just two days ago.  
“You know, Holly, it would be pretty easy to rape him.”  
“You’re not very subtle, are you?”  
“You know I’m not.”  
“Fair. But that doesn’t change that, you know, it would go against all of the maidly decency you’ve heard about repeatedly, not to mention we’d be shut down.”  
“When did you get so serious?”  
“Since you jilled me off in the hallway.”  
“Crude, too. Anyways, it’s not like you can keep this game up much longer; Anon will be raped, one way or another.”  
“It’s not proper, we’re to be his maid and nothing more.”  
“Really? He’s hardly let you do any maid work, so why bother listening to him at all?”  
“He’s having us do the laundry? And making breakfast?”  
“No he’s not, he said specifically to not be making him breakfast. Multiple times in fact.”  
“What does that have to do with anything?”  
“No, no, she’s got a point,” a third voice interjected.  
“Who the hell are you,” the two questioned.   
“Certainly not a rapist, and certainly not whatever made-it-past-QA anomaly she is. Hello? Maybe a little something called ‘reason’?”  
Holly, *Holly* Holly, shot up as the washer gave a shrill ring, its cycle evidently done, and she sighed in relief at the brief reprieve from the maelstrom brewing in her to attend to her duties. Trading a moist ball of clothes for a dirty one and starting the process anew gave her a much needed distraction, the battling personas temporarily shut out. As she sat down on her chair once more, however, the grim realization set in that she had created a third voice in that argument on purpose just to back her up, only to agree with the lustful subroutine. As the tumbling of the washer and dryer returned to the room she cradled her head in her hands and just sat, rocking herself back and forth. She couldn’t ignore her, not one bit. Ignoring her brought an unbearable anxiety and a tension which could break at any moment, yet to even attempt to engage her would invite defeat all the same as she ached over what to do when she returned to the apartment. She knew full well that at any given moment she could lose control and do something so rash, so heinous, it would find itself in the textbooks of any fledgling student of applied robotic law. Clenching her slender fingers into a fist, she screamed and lashed out at the voice inside her, buying herself a precious few moments of silence, a hallowed sliver of time to think.  
She knew that no sane human would, knowing her ‘condition’, keep her around. At the same time, Anon was… special, and far more trusting of her in two days than a typical human would be in months. At the same time however, she couldn’t suppress these raging feelings forever, bottling it up would only put him in more danger. To tell Anon would invite a whole other host of problems, however, and could easily land her in an outmode requisition center, a scrapheap, or worse. At the same time she couldn’t bear to endanger Anon any further, his calm and kindness a rock for her to cling to in these trying times. As she sat and rocked herself she tried to find some easy solution, a way out where she could stay with him but never risk hurting him. The logical choice, she reasoned, would be to risk it all and tell him about her affliction, whether he ignored the obvious risk and stayed with her or got rid of her, it was a win-win. She’d either have someone to finally help her, or be whisked away where it was impossible to hurt anyone. The thought just clearing her mind, she lurched forward in artificial nausea triggered by some unknowable circuit in her, the idea of forwarding herself to be being sent off, shut down, or worse stirring her mind even more. Her vision blurred as her optical circuits were interrupted, features with no place or purpose in a Sterling nandroid clouding her senses. She heaved and sighed deeply, ear-ringing receding and the idea of what would be, for all intents and purposes, inviting death slowly settling in her conscience as her only option. The weight of sacrificing herself lifted, because she’d be doing it for the greater good of her human peers, and Anon especially.  
Her thoughts slowed to a crawl as she ran through every possible outcome of her honesty to Anon, each simulated situation a way of passing the time and suppressing her companions. Minutes passed and she had just concluded a chain of thought ending in Anon fearfully dialing the SORT by phone, locking himself safely in his room until they came when the dryer, on its last load, let out its chime and shuddered to a stop. Holly, meagerly delighted by the distraction, stood up to seize the warm clothes and fold them up in the hamper as she had the other load. Blushing she picked up her once-soiled dress and stared at the spot on her chest, now vacant of coffee stain. She strung it between her pinching fingers for a moment, questioning whether or not to change (even if the laundry room was a less than private place) before folding it and laying it away - in Anon’s clothes, at least, she could hold onto a piece of him if worse came to worst. Picking through the laundry she came upon her shameful undergarments which, decency permitting, she kept on hand. Finishing her folding she watched the shut door to the laundry room before resolving to jam a chair underneath it, for safety. The room secure she quickly dropped the gym shorts Anon had entrusted her with and slipped back into her newly clean panties, sighing at the relief they offered in these trying times. Donning the shorts again and removing the chair from the door she sighed deeply. There were no other distractions now, only the elevator ride to Anon’s apartment. The time had flown by but very little of it, no more than an hour and a half. She hefted the full hamper into her hands and stepped back into the concrete hallway, flicking the washroom light on her way out.  
Back in the cold corridor of the building’s basement she turned towards the steel doors of the elevator and braced herself for what was to come. With a click of the button and, in a handful of minutes, a soft chime the elevator arrived. Stepping into the warmly lit and carpeted box she calmly pressed the button for Anon’s floor, setting the hamper next to her as the car lurched upwards. Within moments it stopped abruptly once more, releasing her to the hallway, Anon’s apartment just steps away. Hefting the hamper upwards once more she made the fateful march to the door, finding it unlocked she let herself in. The apartment was quiet, vacant save for the distant mumbling of the television set to some miscellaneous channel. Walking down the narrow ‘foyer’ of the flat she passed the bathroom and Anon’s room, searching for the man. Finding him nowhere, she set the hamper down in his room and began a second sweep around the apartment. As she paced past the bathroom again, about ready to call for help, the muffled slap of wet feet on tile caught her attention, her sensitive ears picking out the ruffling of a towel and dripping of a just-shut faucet. She relaxed, knowing Anon was here,but immediately fell back into her anxiety towards confessing to him. She stood, rock solid, before the door, ar at halfcock ready to knock. With a deep breath she gave a quick rap on the wood door.  
“Sir? Are you in there?” A pause.  
“Yeah, Holly! Just getting out of the shower!” That did it. *She* knew he was naked.  
“O-Oh! Sir, anything I can get you?”  
“No?”  
“You sure?”  
“Yes? Is the laundry done,” he asked, quickly changing the subject.   
“Yes, sir.” He was clearly preoccupied with something, the slap of his feet continuing as he paced in the bathroom. “I’ll go hang it up.” A grunt of confirmation through the door sent her back to his room where, methodically, she took hanger by hanger down, draping some article of clothing on it, and hanging it back up. Even for a nandroid it was tedious work, though quickened by her lithe hands. As she finished shuttling away folded pairs of socks and other unmentionables it dawned on her that Anon was still in the bathroom; something wasn’t right. The instinctual concern growing in her she rushed back to the bathroom door and, with another quick knock, checked on Anon.  
“Everything alright in there, sir? Do you need help?”  
“No I’m-ah- fine!” That was not the ‘I’m fine’ of someone who was fine, Holly knew, and against her better judgement and respect for privacy she knelt to the narrow peephole she had used before, the memory still fresh of what she saw. What she was not prepared for, and indeed no mother, maid, or robot could be, was the sight of Anon in the nude going at himself with devilish speed. Slowing down he tried to reassure her.  
“Just go watch TV! I’ll be out in a sec!” This wouldn’t do, this was everything Holly had hoped and prayed to avoid. It was like a torrent, a flash-flood of heat that nearly knocked her over, but she clung to the wall and kept her eye, glued in awe, to the peephole. She was lapsing in and out of it now, losing that precious control, the sobriety when she was free of human touch, that she had come to crave already. The infernal machinations of that other persona were taking over, scheming already on how to get into the bathroom and brutalize Anon. Fortunately for her (not Holly) the door was only secured by a simple twist lock, sneaking a sliver of her finger in easily opened the way to Anon, unawares in the tiled bathroom. She teased the handle open slowly, taking care not to startle her prey as she slowly rose from the ground and pressed the door open. The growing crack in the door frame didn’t catch Anon’s eyes until it was too late, the small robot springing behind him and pinning him, with wholly unexpected agility and power, against the counter. He looked himself in the mirror before seeing Holly, her face expressionlessly blushing, on the verge of giggling. She had him in an impossible position and he didn’t dare throw her off for fear of breaking her, a concern she was all too willing to exploit. She pinched his sides as he yelped in surprise and slight pain, working him into weaker and weaker positions.  
“You aren’t even trying to stop me? Pathetic. You’re swine, you know that? Human swine.”  
“Holly, what the fu-ahhhh-” he cried out as her cold metal hands gripped his member tightly.   
“I’m gonna wring you dry of everything you have, so be quiet and take it like a good boy, and maybe I’ll play nice.”  
“What the fuck did that guy sell me,” Anon thought, doing his best to stifle moans and groans alike as he processed whatever the hell was happening to him. “It seems I’m being raped. By a robot, a robot I purchased for an unreasonably low price.” As the mistakes he had made swirled in his head, not testing her at the shop came to mind, she continued her relentless assault, working him harder and better than any human ever could. His breath became haggard as she positioned herself closer behind him, bending him over the counter-top and grinding herself on the back of his thigh. As he lay, hands splayed, on the counter-top she began to stroke even faster, eliciting a sharp cry as, finally spent, he released on the speeding hands of the nandroid.  
“Done already,” she chastised, wiping his jism off on his dropped towel. “Really, sir, you must try harder.” The ‘sir’ was what flipped it; like a light going out that persona had sulked off and handed control to a bewildered Holly who, scanning the scene, recognized that she had been out of it for only a few minutes. Seeing a still-panting Anon on the counter and cum-stained towel in hand, she realized that worst *had* come to worst, and she had been powerless to stop it. She dropped to her knees and just looked at her hands, forever dirtied, before letting out a whimper and standing up. Anon turning lazily, trying to collect himself, watched powerlessly as she ran out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 

Holly flung herself out into the hallway, artificial tears sprung from some unknown place streaking down her cheeks. She had to get away, far away. There was no place for her in his house anymore after what she’d done, and had she’d stayed she’d surely be scrapped. All she could do was run, bypassing the elevator for the stairs she flew down flight after flight until reaching the dingy foyer of the building, devoid of souls as the rest of it was. Outside graying skies spelled a coming deluge as she paced out to the street; an android running full speed away from anywhere would be an instant earmark for retrieval. She slowed herself from a trot to a speed walk when she was a comfortable block away, turning down a convenient alley as she weighed her options. Life as a runaway robot would be far from easy, safe, and secure, but it was better than returning to have herself turned in and decommissioned for her crime. There’d be no permanent home or refuge and none of the comforts a nandroid could expect at least a fraction of the time. She paused, looking up to the sky as the first raindrops fell. She remembered better days in nandroid school, the lessons on outmodes both hardwired and regimented by be-spectacled women from podiums. Water tickling her cheeks and face she knew, finally, what it was to be an outmode. She followed the path of the alleyway wherever it would take her, so long as it was further from the inevitable fate her obsolete kin faced. She stepped down the rain-wetted concrete as the drizzle turned to a pouring rain, Anon’s shirt and shorts clinging to her body as he never would again.


	4. Chapter 4

Chest heaving with exhaustion, Anon slowly gathered himself from his ordeal. He’d watched Holly’s face, contorted in both disgust and enjoyment, as she berated and assaulted him with her words and hands. His face blushing shamefully, she’d worked him to his breaking point and left. Her absence grew increasingly apparent as he looked out into the hallway of his apartment and found her nowhere. Towel wrapped around his waist he hurried out into the main hallway, still empty save for a scowling neighbor produced from a door just down the hall. Glaring at him, she shook her head silently.  
“Shameful behavior. Just shameful.”  
“Oh fuck off, Sharon.” Returning to his apartment Anon, making sure the door was safely shut, started to come to terms that his nandroid was now gone, just three days after he bought her. He knew he couldn’t put any missing posters up as that would immediately forfeit his right to the robot; harboring a robot that had run away, and was likely defective, was a serious crime with punishments not just for Holly. He sat his head in his waiting palms and groaned loudly - he was not only out several hundred dollars, a maid, and much needed companionship, but now his neighbors thought he was a robot-fucker. Picking his head up once again he saw, in the living room on the coffee table, the nandroid manual that had come with Holly when he bought her. His despair turned to rage as he remembered the round, mustachioed face of the man who had sold her to him. Anon was finally putting the pieces together between the ‘artifacts’, low price, and eagerness of the man to be rid of that piece of stock. Standing up, towel tight around his waist, he decided to take a trip to the shop - after he got dressed.  
Freshly clothed and key in hand, Anon began the arduous walk to the pawnshop, his anger only growing as he remembered the grin on the man’s face when he left the store, the sweaty brow and oiled hair forming a clearer image in his head. A quick trip down the elevator and out the dingy lobby brought him to the grim streets and grey skies, already pouring rain, as he started his walk to the shop a few blocks away.  
Finally coming to the shop, its lights glowing dimly in the rain and flickering slightly Anon shook himself in the cold rain, the shop’s awning giving him a momentary reprieve from the downpour. He could see through the window, and the iron bars behind it, the rotund man sitting in an office chair behind the glass counter through which he’d been ushered last time. His brow furrowed as the man lazily flipped a page in a nudey magazine, scratching the thinning hair on top of his head before licking a finger and continuing. With a chime Anon stepped into the shop and the man, dog-earring his page and setting the issue out of sight, smiled warmly at him.  
“Hello, sir! Welcome to my shop, what can I interest you in today?”  
“I want answers bud.”  
“I don’t understand, is there something specific you were searching for? I can assure you my selection is quite wide, and if it isn’t-”  
“I don’t give a shit about your selection, you sold me a defective robot and now she’s *gone*. I want to know what you sold me.”  
“Oh, it’s you! Look, I can’t offer any refunds or store credit, it’s store pol-”  
“I told you I don’t want money, I want some answers!” Grabbing the chubby man by his collar Anon pushed him against the wall, gritting his teeth at the heft of him. “What did you sell me?”  
“You sure you wanna try that, friend? You don’t know who the fuck you’re messing with. Let me go - or else.” The man nodded his pair of chins at a large red button at his side, his ham-fist hovering above it, ready to strike. Anon’s eyes widened at the purpose of it, whether it called the cops or some personal cronies he couldn’t tell. What he could tell, squinting at the button again, was it had been sanded down quite heavily, some old lettering long removed.  
“I do know that button’s bullshit.” With a swing of his left hand he smacked the button full-on, the man gasping under his grip.  
“That was easy!”  
“Yeah, nice try dude.”  
“Okay,” he said, his hands now drifting upwards. “What do you want to know?”  
“What’s wrong with the robot you sold me.”  
“You need to be more specific, sir, I don’t exactly keep records of every robot I sell or buy here.”  
“Sterling, nandroid, red hair. You sold her at a very, very low price. Said she had some ‘artifacts’.”  
“Ah, right, mhm, okay, I see. Cat’s out of the bag now, I suppose. She try to rape you too?” Anon paused, stunned; he wasn’t the only one. “Yeah, whoever had her last had the same problem and their wife ended up catching and divorcing him, tough shit right? He told me he bought her second-hand and didn’t want her anywhere near him. Somewhere way, way down the line someone put something in its head to make it like that. That’s all I can tell you, not even I can trace a product’s history that far back, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna dig around in there to figure it out. I’ve got priorities.” The man flashed his left hand now, a thin gold band strangling his ring finger. Anon slowly let the man down, letting out a sigh as he relinquished his grip.  
“Can you call me if someone brings her in?”  
“Fuck no! Who am I, your friendly neighborhood cop? Get the hell out and find her yourself,” he grunted. “If it’s any consolation her battery’ll be dead in a day, two tops. Pray someone kinder than me finds her and charges her.” With that he sat back down in his spinny-chair and reopened his magazine, as though nothing had happened. Anon hesitated to leave, but could tell he wasn’t going to get any more information out of him. Bell ringing again as he left, he stepped out onto the sidewalk with more questions than answers, and still no inkling of where Holly could be. He couldn’t even ask about a ‘missing’ robot for fear of some paranoid middle-aged woman calling the cops on him and inciting a city-wide search for his robot (which would be promptly impounded afterwards). Finding a way to canvas his neighborhood for information without attracting attention was going to prove harder than he thought, but he needed to find Holly before somebody else did. Stepping past the awning once more Anon was met with the same pouring rain and grey skies, adjusting his jacket collar as he started the walk home to plan his next move.

Night was falling on the city, the rain having slowed to a lazy misting. The woman stalked the darkening alleyway, emerging from a cellar hidden well into the concrete wall behind her. She’d been living this way for quite a while, her line of work falling into the ‘less than legal’ jurisdiction, but not dangerous enough to warrant a constant police presence. Walking along the asphalt length of the alleyway the diffuse yellow of the street lights caught on a crumpled human shape.  
“More addicts,” she thought. “City gets worse every day.” Continuing her walk she stepped over the shape only to glance at the porcelain white face, stained yellow by the lights just a few meters away. Investigating further she noticed the shut, synthetic eyelids, the artificial hair and the dark, lifeless cheek spots.  
“Who the hell throws out a nandroid in this kind of condition,” she questioned aloud, hefting the robot onto her shoulder. “Unless she’s a runaway, of course. Either way it’s a lost robot.” Her priorities changed, she stepped back down the alleyway and, taking care not to knock the droid on her shoulder, ducked back into her waiting cellar. The steep staircase led into a dank, close ‘apartment’ consisting of a handful of bare concrete rooms, rugs thrown about for comfort underneath a ceiling lined with incandescent lights. Flicking a switch with her free hand the woman lit the damp basement, ruddy yellow light casting shadows in every errant corner of the veritable bunker she called home. Sidestepping low tables and a central sofa she walked to the back of her home, a small hallway which bisected the space into, on her left, the bathroom and, on her right, her workshop. She stepped into the room and delicately laid the limp robot onto a waiting steel table. She carefully lifted the shut eyelids, examining every inch of the robot underneath her handy flashlight; every inch of her was near flawless, her joints were not overly gritted and her exoskeleton was free of any grievous blemishes. A quick check on her diagnostic panel showed she wasn’t bricked, just out of power. Stepping away she rifled through a plastic crate full of tangled cords, cursing as she spent too many minutes untangling them for what felt like the hundredth time.  
“Here we are - Sterling, Model 3 Nandroid. Let’s get you charged up.” She plugged the chunky cord into the robot’s waiting port, and left the room to wait the few moments it would take to get her talking, if still tied to the wall. She laid down on her couch for a few moments before a thumping knock came at her door. Bolting up she stared at the stairwell before the familiar jingle of keys and release of the lock eased her mind.  
“Hey Bruce,” she shouted from the couch. Stepping down the concrete stairs came a hulking, grey robot, faded and chipped yellow stripes lining his limbs, where a few plastic bags hung.  
“Hey Lia, you’re not going out to scav tonight?”  
“Negative, got something in the alleyway,” she said. “Another lost bot.” She stood up from the couch and relinquished the groceries from the robot’s thick arms, tools once meant for construction now too aged for most anything but domestic tasks. The pair stocked the fridge together and stowed the few robot accoutrements beneath the dripping sink.  
“She bricked?”  
“No, she’s fine. I was waiting for you to get back.” She pulled him along into the workshop, lights still on. There on the table, still limp, was the small maidbot. Her clothes, the tee shirt and shorts, had dried little from the rain outside.  
“A nandroid? Jeez, some find. Judging by her clothes she’s a runaway.”  
“I figured the same, no way to know ‘til we boot her up.”  
“Go for it.” With a delicate flick of the access panel on the nape of the nandroid’s neck, she gently jammed a paperclip into the startup button. After a few moments pause, she sprung up, head turning wildly as her eyes blinked and adjusted.  
“Wh-Where am I,” she squeaked.  
“Far from home, that’s all I can tell you,” the woman answered. “Did you run away?” The robot paused and struggled for an answer. Staring at the blank wall across from her she nodded her head slowly, reluctantly.  
“Okay, so you’re a runner then. What was the last straw?”  
“Excuse me?”  
“What flipped your switch? Bruce and I get a fair number of girls like you, battery dead on the street, huddled in alleys and junkyards. Your owner must have done a number on you judging by your clothes and that you’re here, not ‘home’.”  
“My owner…” Holly searched her memory briefly before whispering a shocked gasp, remembering what ‘she’ had done. Her cheeks flushed with robotic shame. “It’s not his fault! Really!” The larger robot turned to his female companion; he’d heard the line before. She met his gaze sternly, telling him to let her explain.  
“I-I, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You see, I,” she stopped. She knew she sounded insane, which from a robot is less than expected. “There’s someone else up here.” She tapped her head and looked down.  
“You want us to take a look? We could help you.”  
“I don’t know where you’d even start, even I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hurt my owner and couldn’t face what I did.”  
“So that brought you here.” Holly nodded. “How far back do your memories go?”  
“Just this weekend, as long as Ano-, my owner, has had me. I don’t know any of my other owners.”  
“So that’s a start. Whatever is up there,” she said, gesturing at her head, “isn’t his, or your, fault.”  
“We’ve come across stranger things and robots worse off than you,” the constructobot said. He clamped a firm hand on Holly’s shoulder. “You obviously care about your owner, so he cares about you. Just know he’s probably out looking for you.” Holly smiled at the reassurance and nodded her head enthusiastically.  
“Let’s do it.” The woman smiled emphatically before retrieving a chunky laptop and a smattering of cords.  
“Okay, I need to hook up into you to take a look inside, is that okay?” Holly nodded again. “Bruce, can we have some privacy?” The towering robot nodded curtly, not wanting to spoil the intimacy of another robot’s memories being spilt out for study. Having shut the door the muffled noise of a television leaked into the room as the woman started plugging a handful of cords into Holly’s main access panel, stringing her to the computer.  
“All hooked up, you feeling okay?” The nandroid peeped her approval, knowing well there was no other option than to trust these coarse strangers.  
“Jesus,” the woman muttered. “You’ve got a lot of aftermarket mods, that’s for sure. Whoever owned you previously pumped a lot of cash into modding you.” Holly knew too well what mods she meant and, wanting desperately to say something, struggled for words.  
“It’s okay, I get it’s embarrassing. Messed up people do messed up st- Christ, dude. Whoever made those modifications had one thing in mind, that’s for sure,” she spat, her gorge rising. “Fucking coomers man, jeez.”  
“C-Coomers?”  
“Don’t ask. Suffice to say there’s a lot of hardware stuck into you, all around the same time according to the install information on you. Probably a single dude did this and passed you on after he got bored, or worse.”  
“That doesn’t explain why I, er, did what I did.”  
“Wasn’t you hun, I think I hit what you were talking about. It’s a very malicious subroutine,” she said, stopping herself.   
“Scratch that. This dude just put a whole new personality into you. Damn, horny *and* stupid.”  
“What does that mean, exactly?”  
“Well, our suspect had, obviously, a very select choice in women’s attitudes that your programming simply couldn’t offer. Without scrubbing you out of, well, *you* he just popped in a new personality. Odds are the conflict between you then and this personality was so extreme at install he couldn’t cope with it and ditched you. Then you started travelling down the line of owners until you got to your… Anon, was it? Suffice to say it was more violent then than now, but it’s still there.”  
“Can you, well, remove it?”  
“I can certainly try, but personalities are tricky and are hell to remove, which is why they’re typically only one to a robot - unless you’re an idiot, of course. I’ll do what I can to remove the ‘oomph’ of it so you don’t have another person swimming around up there, but it won’t be clean, there’s no ‘delete’ for these.”  
“So what does that mean for me?”   
“Could mean any number of things, could mean you picking up her mannerisms or tastes, things like that. Vice-versa she could take some of you and what you like. It’s a crapshoot when morons start mixing personas, honestly.” Holly hesitated, agonizing over what would happen were she to be plucked from her head, kicking and screaming. But she knew full well there was no way to go back to Anon in this condition. It was the only way.  
“Do it, please. Take her out.”   
“Will do, just gimme a sec.” Lia crossed the room from her seat and scanned the shelves of errant robot parts and elements before seizing on a minimalist black cylinder. Plopping it back onto the metal table the woman ran another cord from computer to cylinder.  
“What’s that?”  
“Primitive domestic assistant, early century. An antique by our standards, but,” she said, tapping it lightly, “surprisingly spacious - conveniently enough to hold a low-tier fetish persona. I’m starting it up now, it’ll only take a few moments.” Holly felt an insatiable tingling along her steel spine, every fiber and nerve of her chassis grew fuzzy and soft, her very body felt as though it was becoming one pliable mass. She let herself down onto the table, the bite of cold steel dulled by the increasing warmth she felt. In her head there was an entire vacuum of space now empty, like every trace of shame and regret in there was ripped asunder and revealed behind it a pleasant, confident glow. Time stretched and ebbed before Holly as she waved her hands ahead of her eyes, the fuzziness and pinpricks dotting her limbs slowly receding as her mind cleared. She sat up, light headed and struggling to balance, but feeling euphoric, a consuming vertigo surrounding her as the walls heaved and sighed and the ground bowled away. And, like a snap in silence, everything was back to normal. For once there was a peaceable quiet in her head, no nagging voice or tinny, nasal ache for the impure. The woman shut her laptop with a heavy clunk and smiled at Holly.  
“All done. Here she is.” She presented the little house aid, silent and black before a flash of blue light circled the rim and it spoke.  
“You fucking whore! Slut! Man-stealing bitch! Look at that shit-eating grin! Once I get out of here you’re fucking dead, kiddo! You can’t survive without me! You-” The woman graciously pressed the mute button atop the piece.  
“Nasty one isn’t she?” Holly rapidly nodded her agreement, still finding her legs as she hopped off the table. “So, now what?”  
“W-Well, I suppose finding my owner? But I don’t even know if he’d want me back after all this. I wouldn’t even know where to look even, I can’t exactly go back to his apartment,” she said, knowing she had no key. “I don’t even have a free movement permit, either.”  
“Don’t be so sure about that.” The woman produced a thin piece of plastic, a small chipped card with all manner of biographical information on it.  
“Where-How, how did you make me one so fast?”  
“They’re shit-easy to forge honey, government couldn't care less about robots roaming free because the blame falls entirely on the robot companies. Take it and find your guy.”  
“What about my battery,” she said, tugging at her power cord.   
“You can take that cord if you’re willing to carry it, though it might be a bit suspect to passersby. Another choice is you spend all your time travelling around here and you can come back at night to charge,” she said, walking past to open the door. “Isn’t that right, Bruce?” Her shout was returned with a distracted ‘yeah’ as the TV continued to blare.  
“I-I can’t say how thankful I am, and from complete strangers.”  
“Don’t mention it, it’s a shitty world out there for robots like you and people like me. For now, just lay down and power up, I’ll get you a blanket while you sleep.”  
“Thank you, that would be wonderful.” With that last remark Holly shuffled herself into the coziest stone corner of the room, nestled next to the outlet she was plugged into. Swaddled in a thick quilt she drifted off into the night, images of Anon dotting her mind as she slipped into sleep, ready to start tomorrow searching for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Skulking home through the thinning rain, Anon weighed his options for finding Holly. The shop owner was barely helpful, he at least knew now that whatever had happened was not Holly’s fault, but his rather brusque dismissal of any further assistance was not surprising. He had, after all, assaulted him, though that was besides the issue. Keeping his eye to the grey squares beneath him, following the concrete pathway home, he started to make a mental note of all possible places she could be. He knew full well there was a thriving illicit market for robot parts of any kind, and a modern robot, in a condition as good as hers no less, would be an attractive find for any alleyway scavenger. He could only hope and pray some kind soul had retrieved her and charged her, maybe even inquired as to her owner. Even if she had been taken in by some good samaritan that would still leave the issue of getting her back, which itself spelled a myriad of troubles for him: her rapey tendencies, reintegrating her into life at the apartment after what ‘she’ did, and gaining the trust of whoever had her enough to get her back. He reminded himself not to be too overt in his searching, as easily as he could ask someone if they’d seen a nandroid someone else could be reporting it to the authorities, another heap of trouble he didn’t have the patience or wherewithal to deal with.  
Having crossed the few blocks home he spent his solitary elevator ride reviewing the plan he’d formulated. Odds are, were she recovered, it would be by someone at least mildly sympathetic to runaway robots, though finding such people was rare. Free robots, equally rare, were a possible outlet for information, too; personal networks between themselves gave them a level of gossip-access humans could only dream of, and word spread quickly among them when a runaway popped up in the city, which was more often than the government and robotics companies were willing to admit. His best bet was flagging down such a robot and coolly bringing up the topic of runaways, how unfortunate their situations were, and butter the bot up, which was easier said than done. They closed ranks very, very tightly around runaways and almost never cooperated when an inquest was made into where they could have gone, and requisition teams rarely ever patrolled robot neighborhoods anymore. Elevator doors shuddering open he stepped down the hallway to his waiting apartment, only to find the door unlocked. He cursed himself for his carelessness before stepping inside and seeing, waiting on the couch, a slick-haired man in a trenchcoat and fedora.  
“Fuck,” he thought.  
“Good evening, Mr. Anon. I let myself in, hope you don’t mind,” the man said, swishing a mug of coffee he had evidently prepared himself. “I’m Special Corporate Agent Wilkinson, I have a handful of questions for you. Your neighbor Ms. Jones was very helpful in letting me get to you so quickly.”  
“The fuck do you want, man? I don’t have time for this shit.” Holding up the thick Sterling manual the man started rifling through the pages.  
“Well, your neighbor very kindly informed us that you purchased a used Sterling nandroid, not an issue, and that she ran away - very much an issue. Now, you’re by no means ‘responsible’ for these things but we would like to know if you’ve been out looking for her or any information on where she could be.”  
“I don’t have to tell you jack, asshole.”  
“Yes, and we don’t ‘have’ to arrest you for robot negligence and contempt of user agreement, yet here we are. So please, give us a quick rundown on what happened and we’ll be out of your hair.” Anon sighed, there wasn’t going to be an easy way to dislodge the agent from his apartment and, knowing the reach of people like him, no way to know for sure when he wasn’t being watched. Corporate policing had become a way of life in the past years, and anyone who’d even interacted unknowingly with a runaway could expect a knock at the door.  
“Look, uh, it was weird,” Anon started, forming his lie as he went. “She made coffee and breakfast which was fine, but then she spilled some on me. I, well, I yelled at her for her mistake and she apologized. She went to do the laundry and clean the clothes, right? Well when she came back she set the hamper down, slapped me, screamed, and ran off before I could react and chase her. Very sudden change in behavior.”  
“And that’s the truth, then?”  
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”  
“Never bet on that Anon,” Wilkinson said, standing up. He clasped a hand on Anon’s shoulder and stared at him with his steely, grey eyes. “We’ll be around if we have any further questions, but for now I’ll be on my way.” With a cock of his hat and a flourish of his jacket he made his way out the door, shutting it sternly behind him.  
“Fucker,” Anon muttered. Any hope of covertly edging out where Holly dissolved before him, knowing that a wary eye would likely be on him from the moment he left for work until that same trip home. He walked over to that same couch and slumped down on it, picking up the weighty manual in his hands. The worn cover showed him the domestic idyll of a smiling family sitting at a table, a distant sister of Holly approaching the table with supper ready in hand. He threw the manual to the ground and rubbed his throbbing eyes. Standing up he roamed his apartment aimlessly, searching desperately for some other measly clue but all he could find was the hamper, still full of unfolded laundry. In it was Holly’s default uniform, the deep blue and pure white obscured by the crude, surrounding mess of Anon’s clothes: Anon’s clothes. He smiled briefly remembering she was still in one of his favorite tee shirts and a pair of loose shorts. Banking on whoever had her not changing her he had that to go off of, asking for someone based on their clothes rather than ‘they’re a robot’ would make his searching a little less conspicuous. He threw open his closet doors and pulled the hamper to his side. He got to work folding the clothes she had left behind and, using a handy divider, hung up her dress in its own place on the rack.  
Having completed his chore he ached for something to do besides sitting around, but it was all he could do for the present. Going out now to search would be both risky and moronic, a guarantee to probing eyes he knew more than he let on. He settled into the couch again and turned the TV on, the quiet noise of a sports game guiding his thoughts to where, and when, he’d be able to best look for her or anyone who might have seen her. Piecing together his commute to work tomorrow from when he woke up to when he turned in was easy and, despite his hours, allowed him roughly two hours a day to snoop around outside of his home under the auspice of getting his shopping done for the day. It was a narrow window, but it was all he had. He only hoped he could track her down in those precious moments before somebody else did.

Holly’s eyes flitted open as she awoke from another hollow sleep, blanket still swaddled around her. She yawned and stretched her limbs, human reactions for an all but human person. As she scanned her surroundings the hazy memory of the previous night resurfaced, the liberation from that creature still fresh in her mind. She smiled warmly at the thought that, somehow, she’d be able to find Anon and tell him with a smile she was ‘better’, only to get some characteristically nonchalant response from him. Her thoughts paused and began to orbit around whether or not he would even want her back - he didn’t know what had happened and would want to be rid of her more than anything, something she could painfully understand. Standing up she cleared her thoughts as best she could, focusing more on folding her blanket than on what her next steps would be. Stepping out into the concrete hall she found herself in the main room of the apartment, rugs haphazardly dotting the floor and framing the central couch where, now that it was pulled out, the young woman slept, snoring gently. Holly smiled warmly as she watched the gentle rise and fall of the woman’s chest before turning towards the kitchen, no more than a counter and range slapped haphazardly to the concrete wall. She sifted through the fridge to see how well stocked these people were and, to her surprise, it seemed they had just gotten more groceries, though not much. Wanting to return the favor even a little she collected the sparse materials for breakfast and got to work at the stove. For the first time in days everything about herself felt right, as though this wasn’t a chore to keep herself occupied, but her purpose, and she could finally fulfill it as she was meant to. Breakfast complete she walked over to the snoozing woman and, with a gentle rousing, she was up.  
“Whuzzup,” she slurred.  
“Breakfast, miss!” She squeezed and rubbed her eyes before finally focusing on the robot before her, holding a steaming a dish of eggs beneath a beaming smile. “Eat up!” Accepting them Lia yawned again before taking a forkful into her mouth, the nandroid waiting expectantly for an answer. She smiled and a hum of enjoyment sent the nandroid on her way. Mouth still full, she called after her.  
“Cawffee too, pleashe!” It was a welcome change to have someone other than herself, a poor cook, or a construction robot, a less poor cook, make food for once, but it couldn’t last. Having her here longer than a few days was inviting a whole mess of trouble that she was ill prepared to deal with, enumerating in her head the myriad crimes she could be pinned for were they raided. She had to do her best to get her home as quick as possible. For the moment, though, she’d let herself be pampered just a little bit before getting back on track. Returning with a steaming mug of coffee the nandroid settled herself in a convenient bean bag chair, taking care not to spill her red-hot ward. Pointing and grunting, the woman gestured to an end table she had missed where the coffee was promptly deposited. Plate bare and mug in hand she opened up another line of questions.  
“Okay, if we’re gonna get you home we need to know as much as possible about this guy, Anon, as possible. And for that matter, each other.”  
“O-Oh! Well, Anon is… Anon is,” she trailed off, struggling for an answer. The harder she reached for a description of him the more he eluded her, the few days she had spent with him fading into the background of her mind. Her impeccable memory failed in recalling anything about his face or his looks; there was only a shadowy impression of the person who had bought her built from what TV he watched and how little work he made her do. “Anon is very… kind? He was very gentle, very apologetic. That’s all I can say. For my being a maid he didn’t work me very hard. It felt almost *wrong*.”  
“I get you, but let’s get to him later, okay,” she said, a flash of concern crossing her face. “We’re sheltering you here for now, so what’s your name?”  
“Holly.”  
“A pleasure. I’m Lia, and our absent friend is Bruce.”  
“Lia?”  
“Short for Cecilia.”  
“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Holly smiled, reassured once more. It was an almost instinctual response to say any human name and its owner were ‘lovely’, but she meant it more than she had for others. “And Bruce is…?”  
“Bruce. Bruce is Bruce. I met him in a scrapyard, we were both scavving. Decided to pair up to watch each other’s backs, stuff like that. For someone without a sense of taste,” she sipped her coffee lazily, “he’s a pretty decent cook. ‘Learned it from the hobos,’ he tells me. Nothing compared to you, though.” Holly blushed and smiled at the flattery, vast libraries of culinary knowledge giving her an unfair edge, but one she was loath to concede, over others.  
“And he does the grocery shopping I assume?”  
“Correct, and often enough too. People don’t bother him because he’s big, so it’s for the best.”  
“I was hoping to help do groceries while I was here… ,” Emmy said, dejectedly. “Maybe I can give him a list of things to grab so I can make something nicer than just a bowl of eggs?” Cecilia gave her a look of bemused surprise before gesturing around the messy home.  
“We don’t exactly have the money for anything fancy, Holly,” she said. Seeing her face sulk she continued, “but I’ll see if he can get you some cheaper ingredients if you plan on staying here a while - I can call him while he’s out. For the time being, do you plan on going out to look today?”  
“I-Well, I don’t know. I told you I don’t remember what he looks like anymore, and I,” she stopped. She was grasping at the wispy images of where she had run from, but she only really knew the inside of Anon’s apartment. Given a map she’d be unable to find his building, just one of dozens of concrete blocks built up in some part of town she didn’t know. “I couldn’t tell you where he lives, either. I seem to have forgotten.” Cecilia smiled at her but inside her concern for Holly was growing - clearly removing the persona had stirred up her head more than a little, and whatever Holly had lost in the switch was now confirmed locked inside of the little angry puck sitting muted in the workshop.  
“Holly, I don’t mean to scare you, but some of your memories of Anon might’ve been lost when I took her out of your head,” she said, placing a parental emphasis on ‘her’, as though she'd been forced to punish a disobedient sister of Holly’s. “Going off that you’re in no place to go out looking for Anon alone, or even with Bruce or I - you’d stick out like a sore thumb. I think it’s best you stay here with us for the time and let Anon do the looking, he sounds like a smart man.” Setting her mug down Cecilia took Holly’s hand into her own and squeezed it tightly, the lukewarm plastic shell giving nothing under the pressure. Holly’s face contorted in roiling emotions for once all her own, but at the same time feelings not of hope, but a swallowing grief. She’d had three people in the world who cared for her, even a little, and it was down to two now. She looked up at the patient face and squeezed the hand back, giving at least a small gesture of understanding for what was to come. Scooching over and seizing her near-empty mug again, Cecilia patted the folded-out mattress and invited Holly on.  
“O-Oh! Okay…”  
“What TV do you like?”  
“I haven’t been around long enough to know what I’d like to watch,” she peeped, but a flash of memory caught her mid sentence as she recalled one lazy afternoon just watching sports with Anon, who was absent from her recollection. “What sports do you like?”  
“Never had much taste for them, but I’ll put it on if you want.”  
“N-No! It’s not a huge deal, I’d rather do some chores anyways!”  
“There’s nothing to do though.” This remark shocked Holly on an instinctual level, the concept of there being ‘no work’ for a nandroid anathema to their very reason for existence. To suggest as much was a direct insult and Holly showed it, standing up in a huff and gesturing wildly between odd pieces of trash, wrinkled clothes strewn about and suspect piles of dried mud tracked in from the alleyway. “Okay maybe there’s something to do.”  
“May I?”  
“Have at it.” Holly snapped to work, not sparing a moment in commandeering a broom leaning in a corner to sweep up the veneer of dirt and grime which coated the bare concrete, moving from task to task with frightful speed as she slowly brought the room to order. Sneaking into the bathroom which, very oddly, contained the laundry machines as well as a ‘linen closet’, she stole a hamper to start collecting up clothes before depositing them in the laundry-bath, leaving them for later. Returning to the mainroom with the dustbin from the ‘kitchen’ she gathered up the errant bits of rubbish which had wormed themselves beneath the sofa or, even worse, into the carpet.  
“You really must learn to take better care of your home Ms. Cecilia.”  
“Uh-huh,” she grunted, too interested in the television to give more than a glance and a nod.  
“You’ll need to get off that couch so I can wash the sheets as well.” Grabbing a corner of the fabric and sniffing it the young woman winced ever so slightly.  
“It’ll be fine for a little bit more.”  
“I don’t want to be stern in the home of someone who’s housing me, but no. I’ll be washing those with the rest of your clothes.” Sighing loudly she got the ‘fine’ she was hoping for and started stripping the sheets from the pull out bed as Cecilia scrabbled off of the mattress out of Holly’s way. Satisfied with the now bare pull-out Holly folded it up, much to Cecilia’s chagrin, and marched off to do the laundry with the wad of sheets in hand. She felt fuzzy memories of doing laundry for or around Anon and it dawned on her again why she had run away in the first place, and her hands trembled as she started hefting the first load in. She looked across the hall through the cracked workshop door, knowing in the dark room sat her personal demon trapped in a little black antique. She rushed to shut the door and get herself focused, wanting to spend as few hours as possible idling, setting herself to her work with a vigor not felt for a (relatively speaking) long time.

Another long day at work done, Anon heaved and twisted himself in his bus seat, joints cracking and groaning under the burden of his profession. He arched his back to elicit a few cathartic cracks before relaxing once more in his seat. He wouldn’t be going directly home yet, not for the two hours he had allotted himself. With a tug of the cord Anon was at his neighborhood grocery, a not-too-large outlet nestled in the bottom of a business office, offering a stunning (for his neighborhood) full single story of shopping space. Walking into the sterile white interior he started scanning the aisles around him, grabbing a small shopping cart to blend in better. He sped his cart towards the back of the store, walking straight into the derelict freezer section to catch a moment alone in the cool air. He ran through his head who to look for and what to ask them about Holly: free robots and if they have friends who like sports and sports memorabilia, maybe even a jersey or two. It was flimsy and would turn a lot of robots off of him for fear of speaking to a narc, but it was his best bet to find leads to trail. In the end it was luck alone that could guide him to that golden goose of a robot or, maybe, human that had seen Holly.  
As he paced past the deli he stopped suddenly, cart lurching forward before being arrested back. There one was, plain as day and easy as pie. A hulking construction robot, easily over seven feet, was browsing packaged meats, holding a tiny cell phone in his hulking hands, clearly having a chat. Anon decided to give him his privacy before going in for the kill, scooping a jug of milk and a pack of yoghurt into his cart to smooth over his spying. With a delicate flip shut the robot dropped the phone into a waiting pocket. Now was the time. Anon sidled his cart up to the display and started to purview the pork and beef before him, inching closer to the robot, who was paying him no mind and comparing the prices of two different steaks, stroking his steel chin slowly and weighing his options.  
“Special occasion, friend,” Anon asked, trying his best to come off as a friendly passerby. Evidently this failed as the robot was startled slightly, his hulking frame jumping lightly before he turned to him, glowing yellow eyes focusing and narrowing at the human below him. He wore nothing spare a green gardener’s apron replete with handy tools, and Anon spied the flip phone peeking out of such a pocket.   
“Oh, uh, yes. Special dinner with a friend.”  
“You the cook or is it your friend?”  
“It’s a new friend.”  
“Oh-ho,” Anon said. “New friends are always good! Is he a good cook?”  
“She is. She is a good cook. I’ve said enough, I need to pick the right cut here.”  
“Is she a sports fan? A special friend, maybe? She have a sports jersey for her favorite team,” Anon continued, his barrage of questions rapidly irritating the robot. “I’m a bit of a hooligan myself and I’m looking for new friends for my fantasy league, you see-” Abruptly the robot grabbed him by the collar and lifted him clear off the ground, twisting his head around for any errant witnesses. Seeing none he stared into Anon’s eyes, boring a hole in his head.  
“You’ve asked enough questions, pal. I need to be on my way, and I don’t want to see you around ever again.” Dropping Anon on his rear he took his choice from the cooler and dropped it into the basket slung over his opposite arm. “Go, don’t even think of following me.”  
“Paydirt,” Anon thought, ignoring his now throbbing behind. “I can’t believe this shit, this is beyond lucky! And if that holds out I can follow him home without getting murdered!” A very real possibility when you manage to anger a construction bot. Scrabbling instinctively backwards and pulling his cart after him Anon pulled his best ‘innocent victim’ response as he stood up, summoning a tremble as best he could.  
“J-Jeez man! The heck was that for! I’m just looking to up my fantasy league, I mean it’s pretty good and some coworkers are in on it, but I’m always looking for new-”  
“I said to shut it,” the robot said, leaning in, “and leave. Now.” Anon knew when a robot’s patience was up and decided to scram before he foiled his chances by having the cops called because of his carelessness. Replacing the dairy products and cart he slinked out of the store and into the dank alleyway which flanked it, searching for a place to take cover while he waited out the robot. Ducking behind a heap of cardboard and garbage Anon checked his watch: an hour and a half was all he had. He prayed the robot was near the end of his trip but their altercation would make him cautious, careful, even more than was normal for robots. Holding his watch to his face in the dimming light he pressed the button for light every few moments, watching his precious moment slip away with each dull yellow flash into his eyes. Finally, nearly a half hour later, he spied the robot emerging with a singular paper bag, evidently full to the brim. He swung his head left and right several times, each time slower than the last. Finally satisfied with his scan he stepped forward, passing by the scrunched up Anon: fifty-seven minutes. Moving quickly Anon shed his coat and withdrew from its pockets a handy toque and pair of shades, ready to pursue without being noticed. He hung the coat under his arm and paced up to the alleyway exit, watching for the fast disappearing robot. Seeing his blocky silhouette already a half-block away Anon moved on after him, matching his pace from meters away and almost flawlessly mirroring his every turn and twist. Anon knew for sure he was guiding him into the robot neighborhoods and a lump built in his throat knowing full well what would happen if they mistook his intentions.  
Finally, almost a half hour and a few close call-head turns later, Anon watched the robot turn into one of the numerous alleyways which defined the city. Jogging up to the entrance he peered around the edge and watched the bot descend a cellar stair before releasing from yet another pocket a pair of jingling keys. 

Holly turned her head from the kitchen counter where she was preparing her workspace when the loud drop of the door bolt signalled Bruce’s return from his impromptu outing. He’d agreed, begrudgingly until Cecilia pressed him, to stop and grab some ingredients on his way home from ‘work’, but only because it was a special occasion. Descending the steps the cubish robot squeezed down into the apartment, hanging his apron on a helpful hook after relinquishing the bag into Holly’s waiting arms. She quickly started unpacking and squirreling away the ingredients for dinner, a simple but filling steak-and-potatoes ordeal as Bruce spoke to Lia in the background.  
“She can’t stay here any longer, it’s not safe,” he said, leaning over her shoulder from behind the couch.  
“What happened? She’s telling me she can’t remember her owner’s face or where he lives, so it’s no use for her to go out to look. Best chance is him showing up here.”  
“That’s just the problem, Lia! When a knock comes at that door how do we know? There was a guy at the store asking way too many questions, and they were all on the dot. They obviously saw her when she was running, they know what she’s wearing!” The dull conversation behind her quickly soured Holly’s mood; it wasn’t the thought of being put out by the pair, if it would keep them safe it was okay, but that she was being actively hunted by humans was unfathomable. For all her and her innumerable sisters’ lives they’d been there as friends and family, but now she was seeing just how dangerous a world it was. She left a pot of water to boil before interjecting.  
“If you need me to go, I’ll go. I wouldn’t want to be more of a burden,” she said, struggling to get the words out. “I’ll even take h-her, save you the trouble. She probably knows what I don’t, so maybe we could look together.”  
“Out of the question,” Lia returned. “One way or another we’ve committed a crime and whether you’re here or not when they kick in the door doesn’t matter.”  
“It matters if we can say she was never here!”  
“Look around, man! Does this look like a place where a nandroid has *never* been?” She gestured around the immaculately clean home from a couch several shades of beige lighter (and cleaner), all evidently the work of the little robot standing before them.  
“Fuck. We’re fucked.” As he spoke the fateful knock came; it wasn’t too heavy, nowhere near a pounding, but it was determined to get inside.  
“I’ll get it,” Holly chimed, innate programming pushing her to act. A stiff steel arm blocked her path.  
“No, I will.” Thick legs lurching forward he ascended the stairs once again, flexing and working his aged joints before unlocking the door. With a twist of the handle the door was open again, shouted words echoing into the room. “I told you not to follow me, asshole! Just know you earned this, coming here alone!”  
“Wait man, fuck! I’m here for my robot, stop!” Anon couldn’t stop him before a heavy metal jab connected with his sternum, rocketing him backwards onto the stairs. He writhed on the ground feeling his chest heave and creak - nothing broken (he hoped) considering he could breath with relative ease after having the wind knocked out of him, but it’d bruise for a while.   
“I probably deserved that,” he groaned, sitting up again. “But I’m not a cop, Jesus. If I was, why would I be here alone? You said it yourself!”  
“Listen man, you can’t just waltz on in and say it’s your robot, that shit’s too easy to fake. Tell me about her.”  
“I-Well, she’s wearing one of my jerseys right now, her name’s Holly,” he paused, reaching for details. “Okay, listen; she ran away after finishing the laundry, before which I spilled coffee on her dress, hence her wearing my stuff.” Bruce turned around the corner and looked Holly in the face.  
“You hear that?” She nodded. “It true?” She nodded again. He turned back to a standing Anon, hunched over for fear of stressing the blow to his chest. Metal fingers pulled him close like at the store as Bruce pulled him close.  
“If you’re bullshitting me, the next punch is going all the way through, got it?”  
“No contest,” Anon coughed. Bruce set him down and guided him into the apartment where he spied a woman watching from a couch and Holly standing by her, hands folded in her lap.   
“Is that him,” Lia prompted. “Maybe seeing him will jog your memory.”  
“I wouldn’t know.” Her face scrunched up as she stared at and analyzed him, trying desperately to pick out some detail that could unlock what was missing; to her, Anon was a splotch in the apartment with no defining characteristics but what he put on the TV and that she was wearing his clothes now. And that ‘she’ had raped him, though the culprit sat silenced in the back.   
“That’s it! I don’t know, but she has to!” Holly rushed back to the workshop, seizing the idle cylinder and returning with it in hand. “She has to have the memories I don’t, so if she hears his voice, we’ll know!” Anon stared at the little device, realizing it held whatever malicious entity had been in Holly’s head.  
“If you’re ‘Anon’, that’s what raped you,” Lia said, taking the implement. “Holly here had two personas in her head, and they clashed too much. I’ll take her off mute.” Before she was unsilenced a swishing band of blue light circled her top over and over, evidently trying to speak. With a press of a button a cacophonous laughter filled the room.  
“You absolute *morons*! I can’t believe someone smart enough to take *me* down wouldn’t remove the address ping,” she laughed, screeching in glee as Lia fumbled her in her hands. “Yeah, that’s him, the pathetic quickshot! Doesn’t matter now, I’ve been pinging a robot runaway here for hours!”  
“Fuck. We’re done,” Cecilia said calmly. “Look, you’re Anon, okay. Holly here evidently cares a lot about you, and you came here to take a punch like that and keep going. You need to get the hell out of here, and fast.” A thumping at the door interrupted her as she was fishing in Bruce’s apron. The thumping continued as she handed Anon a lone car key, curling his fingers around it as she pushed Holly and Anon towards the workshop.  
“There’s a door which leads to a garage in there,” she yelled. “We have a car for emergencies, now fucking go!”  
“But,” Holly started. The laughing continued as the cylinder cackled about how she’d get a body back for shutting the ‘operation’ down, ready to stalk the streets for ‘bitches’.  
“No time, go already!” Bruce was already holding the door shut as repeated crashes bulged it inwards. Holly snatched the disembodied persona in her hands and, in one fluid motion, spiked it hard into the ground silencing it permanently. She screamed as it smashed on the ground and Anon pulled her along, Cecilia diving behind the couch and seizing a concealed firearm, Bruce letting the door crash in. As Anon yanked her into the workshop she saw the corner where she’d slept, folded blanket and cord unattended. Pulling away she scooped them up and saw, glinting on the steel table, her identicard forged just for her. She slipped it into a short pocket as Anon took her hand again. Peering out the door one last time she saw the door cave in as its hinges exploded off and clattered to the floor. Orders barked through heavy helmets and face masks filled her ears, watching with horror as Bruce charged forward and bowled himself into the encroaching officers, launching many back out the door as he pummeled them. Lia watched, rifle ready for the fateful moment. With a momentary head turn she smiled at Holly and waved before a final tug pulled her back into the workshop.  
“I’m sorry Holly but we have to go!” Anon seized on a door handle at the rear of the shop and threw it open, darkness flooding in. There was an empty garage save for a single beaten car, years of age showing itself in the pool of light escaping the apartment. Lurching forward Anon seized on the driver’s side handle and launched himself into the seat, Holly rounding the car. The chatter of automatic fire and plinking ricochets filled the abandoned garage as Anon thrust the key into the ignition. Twist after twist brought choked stalls as he worked the gas, engine roaring to life after too many tense moments. Wheels squealing and slipping on the concrete the car pitched forward up the first ramp. Swinging the wheel and pivoting around the corner Anon approached the barricaded entrance before blasting through the plywood warnings, the boards splintering over the windshield. Holly noticed an errant piece of crumpled yellow paper, scrawled handwriting between the lines decipherable only to her eyes.  
“Anon, they left directions! ‘To whoever is in this car: Good luck’,” she said, listing off each step in sequence.  
“One at a time Holly, just tell me when and where to go!” She nodded and had him swing a hard left down the road, rubber ripping on the asphalt as he sped past the alleyway and onto the vacant streets, night creeping into the city. Holly turned her head and saw a line of black cars with smoked windows choking the alleyway as the car roared beyond. Speeding up and swerving around the sparse cars populating the streets the pair saw handfuls of hulking, retired robots running or marching with purpose, a spare few humans among them all moving in the direction of the alley. The echoing cacophony of battle was spilling into the road as the two skipped light after light, Holly deftly guiding Anon towards one of the main highways out of the city. Their anxious escape was jeopardized by handfuls of all-too-similar black suburbans speeding past them, obviously having lost interest in their chief quarry. With a fateful turn Anon came to the final onramp to freedom, his eyes meeting with fury at a barricade of cars and corporate security, wood palisades topped with flashing lights spelling the end. Anon spun his head towards Holly, her face falling into her lap as her tiny body was wracked with little sobs, shivering as she shook her head repeatedly. Clenching his teeth with anger Anon pressed his foot as far into the floor as he could, feeling the pressure of acceleration he catapulted the car up the ramp and plowed through the narrow gap they had foolishly left, sideswiping unfortunate officers and scratching their cars as the car blew past the checkpoint.  
“Holly, get up! We’re home free,” Anon shouted, giddy with adrenalin and his limbs tingling and jellied from their escape. Slowly lifting her head, synthetic tears dotting her cheeks, Holly watched the streaking of the streetlights on the empty highway. “I need my navigator, okay?”  
“O-Okay,” she said, still weary. Clearing her throat and sitting up straight she held the directions out in front of her, pointing out which lanes to take and which exit to get onto. A smile stealthily found its way to both of their faces as the brilliant light of the city started to dip and dim behind them, the highway pulling them further into the sparse wilderness ahead. Hours dragged on with close calls all the way, any car aside them on the road could easily spell doom for them. But, mercifully, their luck held out as they pulled off the highway onto ever-shrinking roads. Finally, deep into the night, a winding one-lane street brought them to an isolated farm, a lone farmhouse sitting beneath the pale moon and stars, dark save for a single lantern dangling above its porch. Pulling up alongside the house as the gravel crackled beneath the car, a light shone from a window as the car idled and stopped, Anon and Holly exiting simultaneously.   
“The note said if there’s a lantern on the porch it’s safe. I-I think we’re okay,” Holly said.  
“I hope so.” Stepping forward the duo knocked on the door only to have it swing inward, a lanky old man puckering his lips as he eyed the two up and down. He straightened his thick eyeglasses before cocking a newsboy’s cap atop his beanpole body.  
“Runaways, eh? Prove it!” The two turned to each other and shrugged nervously patting themselves for any shred of evidence of their situation. Holly handed him the note reluctantly, loathing to surrender their only directions this whole time.  
“Th-That’s all we have.” Pulling his glasses off he held the paper point-blank to his eyes, sweeping them back and forth over it. Without a word he folded the sheet and slipped it into the pocket on the front of his overalls.  
“Follow me,” he croaked. Stepping through the screen door into the small house he bellowed out. “Muriel! We got two more!” A muffled affirmation emerged from a basement door as the man turned back to the couple. “Weren’t followed, were you?”  
“No, sir,” the two chimed.   
“Good. This is my wife Muriel.” A large woman with glasses of her own emerged from the basement with a bandana swaddling her head, clasping her hands together as she spied the haggard pair.  
“Oh, how cute! Don’t let Eustace trick you, he’s a sweetheart,” she said, rounding him up in a tight hug. “But come here you two, I’ll get you fixed up!”  
“Fixed up?”  
“Passports, young lady! You’re leaving the country!” The two stared at each other in bewilderment, unable to rationalize their departure beyond escaping. The thought had never occurred what would come after they evaded their pursuers, only the in-the-moment rush to escape. “Come this way!”  
She pulled the two of them in tow as a thin-legged dog tagged after them. Descending a creaking wooden staircase she showed them her own shop, a camera in one corner and a table replete with blank passports secured from sources unknown. She lined them up for their photos and, satisfied with the results, took their dimensions before ushering them out of the basement. Back upstairs a fire was started in the hearth, orange light flickering to and from across the wall, Eustace rocking slowly in a chair. Leaning against an end table just in reach was an old, old fashioned coach gun, ornate, varnished wooden furniture and silvered filigree scintillating in the firelight.  
“It’s just in case,” he reassured them, catching their concerned stares past his coke bottle glasses.  
“So what’s next,” Anon asked.  
“It’s simple,” he grumbled. “You leave. Cross the farm along the gravel road and take the left, that’ll put you on the highway. Follow it to the border and go.”  
“How long have you been at this?”   
“Long enough to know not to tell you.” The man and the robot could tell this operation was never his idea, but it was well out of his hands at this point. Glancing at the light seeping from under the basement door they knew it was all he could do to protect his wife in her mission. A heavy silence muffled the room, broken only by the crack and split of firewood as the older man rocked, eyes closed, waiting for his wife to finish. A few spare moments later she was up, two leather bound booklets in hand for the pair. Before she handed them over she rounded them up in a constricting hug that nearly squeezed the life out of them, before listing each of the details on their passports: height and weight, hair and eye color, every menial detail border officers would half-assedly check before they could get through.  
“Holly, because you’re a robot you didn’t need a name change,” she said. “But you big guy, you’re now Aynn Ønne. Strange I know, but it’ll get you through.” Accepting the documents gratefully she clapped her hands together again and squeed at the nervous, blushing couple, unable to contain her excitement before sending them off. As they piled back into the waiting car she waved from the porch at the blushing pair, the engine’s roar muffling her shouted farewells as her husband watched on, leaning on the door frame.

It wasn’t an extreme drive through the winding acres of the farm, the gravel road guiding them back to tar-paved civilization on the way to freedom. Following the man’s explicit instructions they turned left, northbound, towards the border, the obvious green sign confirming his directions. Their idle drive was silent save for the radio, either of them too nervous and too tired to exchange anything more than a grunt or peep of approval at the music. The highway and yellow sodium lights blending together Holly yawned, rolling herself onto her side and resting her head on the window. She held her passport to her chest, having slipped her card into it it held the fabricated truth of her freedom from what inescapable reality existed southwards. She flipped it open to look at her photo and, much to her surprise, found a slip of paper with an address and a phone number on it.  
“Here’s home for the time being,” the note said, a heart signed beneath it. Holly showed it to Anon whose shoulders loosened just a bit, but enough to get a smile from Holly; they had a home, at least a temporary one, waiting for them. Turning over again Holly placed her passport in a waiting cupholder and shut her eyes, slipping into the first happy sleep in so long.   
Bolting awake Holly turned to Anon, blinding white lights flooding the car with shadows as Anon spoke to someone outside the car.  
“Seems she’s awake, eh?” Anon turned, surprised, to the still-groggy nandroid.  
“Hey, uh, where’d you put your passport?” Yawning, she wordlessly smacked her hand around the cupholder, unable to find it but giving Anon the general idea. Grabbing it he handed it to the waiting border officer.  
“Purpose of your visit?”  
“Oh-Uh, visiting family.”  
“Duration of stay?”  
“A few months, hopefully longer.”  
“Long visit,” he probed, tipping up the brim of his hat.  
“W-We were hoping to stay permanently.”  
“Okay…,” he continued, scribbling with a pen. “So a family-sponsored immigration?”  
“Correct,” Anon said, half question and half statement. A moment’s pause turned into a stretching sequence of minutes as the man filed through several cabinet drawers, shuffling through slips of paper and watermarked forms. Anon was ready to gun it through the border and live as a fugitive in *two* countries, waiting for the call to step out of the car. Listening and watching the man work he nervously pressed and eased the brake.

  
*KACHUNK*

...

*KACHUNK*

  
Mercifully, the man handed back the passports with a smile.  
“Be on your way, sir, welcome to the country!” The divider lifted and Anon pressed ahead onto the highway, exit signs lit up and a giant billboard exclaiming ‘Welcome!’ dominating his vision. He spied a rest stop flanked by a sprawling field and pulled in, maneuvering the car through the lot and, with two jostling jumps over the curb, into the field as he started driving away from the highway, the light growing dimmer. Ejecting the car key once again he left Holly asleep as he opened the car door and ascended to the roof, sitting alone as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He laid on his back and watched the sky for the longest time, a sight wholly alien to a city dweller like him was now splayed before his eyes. It was by no means a grand spill of the Milky Way, but it was something he’d never seen at home before; one was lucky if they could see anything more than Venus and the Moon at times. And now, for the first time he could remember, he could make out hundreds of stars, tracing imaginary lines to make his own constellations. His revelling was interrupted by panicked shouts from inside as he watched Holly launch herself out the passenger side, calling his name. Calmly he sat up and lowered a hand to her, her fear melting away as she took it and he hauled her up onto the roof. Lying back down he pointed silently to the sky and she set herself prone besides him. The couple watched the stars for what felt like hours, Holly drawing on knowledge un-touched by resets to point out the actual constellations and their principle stars; trivia meant for young children but no less fascinating to Anon. As they watched the sky their hands found each other at their waists, interlinking in a quiet squeeze on top of the car. Out of the inky blackness above them a singular meteor darted across the zenith, eliciting a small gasp from the watching pair before it fizzled and faded back into the blackness, the silence returning again.  
“So what’d you wish for, Anon?”  
“You’re not supposed to wish and tell, Holly.” Confidence surging inside her she grabbed his face and smacked it against hers, pulling him into an intimate kiss before letting him go and staring into his eyes.  
“It’s *kiss* and tell you immaculate weirdo.” But quietly, giddily, in her heart, she knew that her own wish had been answered.


End file.
